


Cry Havoc

by Nightfox



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Graphic Rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Suppression, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance, Slavery, child abuse/molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 80,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enslaved by Kanen since childhood, Merlin has been raised to believe his collar is all that keeps him in check. That<i> it </i> is the line between the beast that bites and the dog that obeys…but either way, he's still an animal. Then one day Kanen's gang is ambushed and in the ensuing confusion, Merlin escapes and flees to Camelot where he attempts to start a new life. However, his old master isn’t about to let him go without a fight.<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>__________________________________________</p>
</div><br/>**Please note that this fic contains a graphic depiction of rape and less graphic but still potentially disturbing descriptions of child abuse/molestation. Two scenes have been marked out so that they may be skipped by readers who find such content disturbing. Please refer to the notes in the chapter headings.
            </blockquote>





	1. Author's Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/gifts), [RocknVaughn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for "Cry Havoc," a Paperlegends 2013 story by Nightfox {fanart}](https://archiveofourown.org/works/964543) by [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello). 



>   
> The prompt that inspired this fic can be found [Here](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/21103.html?thread=20914799#t20914799) on KMM. Loosely based on the film, [Unleashed](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unleashed_\(film\)).

[ ](http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/e/4/e4414de492dfa56ccf7a8a746d50c3a7-d6ka2kn.jpg)

  
_"Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war"_

~ William Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_ (Act 3, Scene 1, line 273)

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Massive thanks to: [Rocknvaughn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn) \- Incomparable Super-Beta who has been with me since before paperlegends was even a blip on the radar and who stayed with me for every shaky step of the journey (and if you find this fic at all readable it's entirely due to her efforts) AND [Altocello](http://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello) \- Artist Extraordinaire who believed in me before I even had the tiniest nibble from a plotbunny for this beast and who provided me with inspiration, insight, ideas and of course the most AMAZING FUCKING ART EVER. And last but not least , to [Amphigoury](http://amphigoury.livejournal.com) \- Cheerleader Supreme and Enabler Extreme who provided me with the prompt, goaded me into writing this story bigger, bolder and that-much-more graphic whenever I was feeling timid and who gleefully read along providing wonderful insight and serving as an amazing sounding board whenever I was stuck.

To the entire PL Chat Gang, thank you for the endless support, friendship, laughter, conversation and REFUGE. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

My heartfelt thanks and sincere congratulations to [Muppet](http://the-muppet.livejournal.com/) for FOUR YEARS of the Most Amazing BigBang hosted on LiveJournal!! Thank you so so so much for your unconditional support and unfailing patience with not only me but also everyone else who participated in this challenge. You are the most wonderful person and I feel privileged just to walk the surface of the same planet you do <3


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter contains descriptions of child abuse and molestation. Nothing is overly graphic but it still may be disturbing to some readers. I've marked out the section (beginning and end) where Merlin recalls being molested by Kanen so that you may skip it if you so desire.**

Darkness, thick and cloying, pressed against Merlin in the narrow corridor formed by a wall of the portside storehouse that loomed to one side and the unsteady canting of a rickety old wharf-rat boarding house to the other. He fell obediently to heel behind Papa and followed closely as they navigated the tight space. Merlin was ready for the command he knew was coming…Papa had trained him well.

Always sensitive to Papa’s moods, Merlin could feel the anger coming off him in waves. Knowing what that anger meant for _him_ in that moment, Merlin tensed, pulling a thread of power from his core, carefully coiling it in his hands. His magic responded eagerly; simmering just beneath the thin skin of his palms and crackling from the base of his fingers all the way to the tips. 

The rest of the group fell back as soon as they breached a door at the rear of the warehouse. Merlin surged in first, with Papa just behind, his hand steady on Merlin’s shoulder. The moment they cleared the doorway, Papa twisted his fingers on the iron clasp of the collar round Merlin’s neck and hissed the command in Merlin’s ready ear.

“Get ‘em, boy.”

As the iron-studded circlet fell away from the flesh of his throat, Merlin surged forward with a growl and a snap of his teeth. There was shouting ahead. Merlin raised his hands, letting loose a bolt of raw energy.

[](http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/256/e/4/e4e2588e6b4208710b0c5130e777d2e7-d6ka3q5.jpg)

The first of the approaching men hit the ground with a thud, smoke rising from his chest.

 

Two other men were close enough to get their hands on Merlin, but with a loud bark rasped from his throat, he blasted them off their feet. As they fell, Merlin lunged forward. He knew there were more men ahead, men that he needed to put down. Raising his hands once again, he concentrated, words forming on his lips. He shaped them but didn’t give them sound; he didn’t need to. Papa had trained him _well_. Fire burst from Merlin’s upraised palms in controlled bursts that wreaked havoc among the men before him. They leapt in all directions; none of them were coming for him now. It didn’t matter. Merlin would get them; he’d get them all. After all, it was his purpose: Papa had taken the collar _off_.

Suddenly, it was _Merlin_ being jerked off his feet and flying through the air. Obviously, they had a sparker of their own. He quickly managed to form a cushion of air around most of his body before slamming into the far wall, but his head still struck the stones hard enough to momentarily blur his vision. A head injury might have stopped the average sorcerer, however, when Merlin’s collar was off, he was nothing more than unthinking reflex, conditioning, and muscle memory. This allowed him to immediately roll to his feet despite the blow to his head...and he came up fighting. 

Merlin didn’t bother to shield himself from the flame that erupted from his enemy’s hand. Instead, he lunged _toward_ the rush of superheated air, tucking and rolling forward as it flew over his crouched form and scorched the spot where he’d been standing a half-second before. Clearly expecting his opponent to fight him magic to magic, the enemy sorcerer was caught off guard when Merlin sprang to his feet only an arm’s length in front of him. Backpedaling, the sorcerer tried to give himself room to manoeuvre, but it was too late; Merlin was on him in an instant. Merlin’s hands darted out snake-swift, gripping the sorcerer’s head between both palms. The flash of gold across dark blue irises lent his slender hands an unnatural strength, and with a twist of Merlin’s wrists, the enemy’s life ended with a sickening wet-crunch of compressed bone and flesh.

Springing free of the sorcerer’s corpse with a snarl, Merlin landed on his feet before a heavy desk. The well-dressed man seated behind it cowered before Merlin’s quivering, blood-soaked figure and screamed for help that wasn’t going to come. However, before Merlin could put the man down, he heard Papa call a new command.

“Hold!”

Merlin froze in place.

“Eldred! Old Friend! It’s good to see you lookin’ so...well off.” 

Papa strode forward with his usual air of command, and though he spoke, Merlin knew the words were not for him. However, since his collar was still off, Merlin remained vigilant. His hyper-focused stare continued to bore into trembling man, the bright glare of his magic heating the usual blue of his eyes to a simmering gold. 

Papa glanced around at the piles and piles of stuffed crates. He eyed the bulging shelves and finally brought his gaze back to rest on the richly-dressed man, who was all but pinned in place by Merlin’s unnerving golden gaze.

“In fact, I think it’s fair to say that you’re positively _thrivin’,_ Old Friend. Lookin ‘round here, that’d be clear to even the basest fool.”

Papa paused and then sauntered closer. Leaning in close to the visibly sweating Eldred, he continued in a low rasp, “Tell me Eldred, do you think me a fool?”

“N-neh…n-n-no, Kanen! Of-of c-course I d-don’t…”

“We had an agreement, Old Friend. A simple percentage, to be delivered once a month. It’s an easy enough thing, Eldred, like I told you at the beginning.”

Kanen gestured toward the quivering Merlin, whose unblinking stare was still fixed on Eldred.

“Pay what you owe and the collar stays on.”

Turning back to the cowed merchant, Papa continued, “Don’t give me my due and the collar comes off.”

Eldred tried to back away, but Papa forestalled him, snarling at Merlin, “Hold him.”

A tiny flare of will and the wealthy merchant was swept up and splayed flat against the hard wood of the wall behind him. Papa stripped gleaming rings from trembling fingers and golden chains from his quivering throat. When he’d relieved the frightened merchant of all his jewelry, Kanen turned to a chest beside the accounting table. Extracting several small bulging bags, Papa tossed one in the air and caught it again, grinning at the satisfying clinking of heavy coins in his hand. Handing the bags to Merlin, he gave Eldred a mocking bow before slapping Merlin’s collar back in place and thumbing the clasp shut with an audible click.

All the tension bled from Merlin in an instant. The blaze of burning gold vanished from his eyes as the magic retreated back to the core of his being. It was over…for now. The terrible animal that raged inside Merlin was completely tamed by the closing of his collar. Papa continued to speak, but Merlin no longer paid much attention. His part was finished, and when Papa turned to leave, Merlin was happy to follow. There would be no more killing…at least until the next time his collar came off.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

As they rode back through the city, Merlin obediently kept his mount close to Papa’s. Papa didn’t like it when Merlin wandered too far from his side and Merlin could sense that he was in a strange mood. Despite the success of their errand, an air of dissatisfaction hung heavy over Papa’s brow. It wouldn’t do to catch his attention or to spark the unpredictable temper that often manifested whenever Papa brooded.

Besides, it really wasn’t much of an effort for Merlin to remain close as the streets were claustrophobically narrow in that part of the city. The upper stories of the buildings leaned toward each other and cast a perpetual shadow over the crooked alleys that snaked between them. Filth choked the gutters, overflowing out onto the cobbles and the whole place stank like a midden. In the narrow gaps between the crooked buildings scraggly patches of green sprang up to serve as meager gardens for the residents of the crowded neighborhood. 

Papa called the city Dunpelder, and despite its unprepossessing appearance, Merlin knew it to be the King’s own capital. Merlin had heard Pel and Garret once joke that if Dunpelder was the greatest jewel in King Cenred’s crown it was no wonder he kept calling on Papa for loans.

Merlin didn’t mind the crowds so much, he loved to watch the hustle and bustle of the people, but the fetid stench and perpetual gloom that hung over the place _were_ distinctly off-putting. The people who lived here didn’t look much different from the country folk in the smaller villages Papa so often frequented--perhaps they were a bit paler and more pinched looking--but there were just so many of them bunched into such a small space! Merlin often wondered why they didn’t spread out more. There was plenty of open space around the city. He wasn’t sure why they all wanted to squat behind high walls that penned them in like cattle. 

As they rode, Papa chewed thoughtfully on a hunk of dried meat. Merlin’s head still ached; he scratched dully at the sore, itchy wetness of his scalp and longed for home. Pel and Garret rode ahead of them as they made their way out of the city. Merlin only listened with half an ear as the three of them spoke to each other. Papa didn’t like for Merlin to speak unless he was spoken to, so as long as Papa wasn’t speaking to him, Merlin was free to let the conversation pass over his head. Still, Merlin noticed the strained tone of Papa’s voice as he spoke to his underlings, and it made him wary.

It seemed that Papa’s sleep had been disturbed of late by mysterious dreams of foreign delights mingled with nightmares of horrifying attacks from strange sorcerers. Though it was obvious to Merlin that Papa’s voice sounded distracted, even _haunted_ as he spoke of his nighttime visions, Pel and Garret seemed not to notice anything amiss. Oblivious, they joked back and forth over the more salacious details that Papa related about the dreams. However Merlin, ever sensitive to his master’s moods, was disturbed by how unsettled Papa sounded.

Merlin hunched in on himself instinctively, trying to make himself small and unnoticeable. Doing his best to appear as if he was paying _no_ attention to Papa’s conversation, he focused his gaze on a small gang of young boys tussling in the street ahead. The note of uncertainty in Papa’s voice wasn’t something Merlin was used to hearing, and it made him nervous. Anything that bothered Papa could eventually trickle down to affect Merlin since he was the most convenient target for all of Papa’s mood swings.

As Papa continued to describe his more violent visions, Pel grinned vacantly over one shoulder. Head bobbing as if it were spring-loaded, he mouthed mindless appreciation for his boss’s bloody imaginings, but Garret seemed to finally catch on to Papa’s mood. He side eyed his slack-jawed colleague, shaking his head in disgust at the oblivious man. Papa’s face twisted but he paid little real attention to either Pel or Garret. Continuing to brood in silence for several minutes, he appeared lost in dark memories.

Eventually, Merlin felt the heat of Papa’s stare settle on him and he did his best to appear mindlessly preoccupied. His own eyes averted, Merlin appeared to be intently tracking the stuttering flight of a pigeon as it bounced from house to house just ahead of their party. The ruse _seemed_ to work, though Papa’s considering gaze remained focused on him for a disturbingly long time.

Finally, Papa leaned back in the saddle, muttering something vaguely envious about “the peace of a dog’s life”. The derisive words were directed at Merlin, but he was glad to hear them: it was usually in his best interest to be discounted or dismissed. For Merlin, keeping his head down was a way of life.

As they rode on, Papa made a visible effort to shake off his disturbing melancholy. He began to speculate on how well the other collection teams might be doing on their rounds, and what sort of bounty they could expect to find when they reached their base of operations. As usual, the prospect of money seemed to quickly restore Papa’s good mood. Merlin relaxed ever so slightly when Papa reached for the pouch on his belt and returned to gnawing on some of the dried meat he always kept there.

A few minutes later, Papa waved a strip of the stuff in Merlin’s direction. Leaning over, he held out the jerky, stuffing it in Merlin’s mouth when the warlock leaned forward toward his outstretched hand. He carelessly ruffled Merlin’s wavy dark hair and Merlin smiled happily in response, pleased with the rare show of affection. 

Merlin breathed a silent sigh of relief. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be one of _those_ nights after all.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Papa pushed for speed when they finally clattered through the city gate and reached the open countryside as he was wanting to make it home before evening fell. Ever obedient, Merlin and the others spurred their horses to move faster intent on leaving the looming walls of Essetir’s capital city far behind. None of them even thought to complain, as they were all eager to gain the comforts of home as soon as possible.

“Home” was a mobile encampment of tents and caravans that could be broken down and packed up in a matter of hours. Encumbrances made Papa nervous; he didn’t like anything that could potentially tie him down to any one place or situation.

Though generally regarded as an idiot, Merlin understood far more than any of his companions would ever credit. He knew that his “family” inspired fear and loathing wherever they went. Papa’s name was universally reviled and Merlin remembered many attempts on his life over the years…attempts that Merlin, his loyal “son” and guard-dog had repeatedly thwarted. Merlin knew it was the prospect of presenting a sitting target to his enemies that made Kanen shy away from anything that smacked of permanence.

Merlin understood all this but it didn’t bother him one way or another. That was just how things were. He didn’t query the right or wrong of it, and even though he didn’t enjoy the violence he committed at Papa’s behest, Merlin would never hesitate to kill on command. He’d never question _any_ of Papa’s commands. An order from Papa was something that _had_ to be followed. Hesitation would only bring pain and questions could only ever engender punishment. Papa’s will was Merlin’s all.

But during his long hours of solitude, in the privacy of his own mind, Merlin hated having to hurt people.

The hazy sun was sagging low in a cloudy sky by the time they rode into camp. They were immediately surrounded by Papa’s most trusted men who stepped up swiftly to report. The dangerously pensive mood Papa had been in most of the day dissipated gradually as one after the other related nothing but stories of success.

Sacks heavy with coin and boxes bursting with provisions were laid at Papa’s feet, and he grew ever more jovial with each offering. Merlin stood to the side and listened impassively as the men related stories of successful intimidation and skillful coercion. It had been a good campaign, Papa’s name and reputation striking fear wherever they went. It seemed that tales of Kanen’s pet sorcerer continued to spread and the scope of Papa’s petty conquests advanced further wand further afield. Naturally there were those who still needed to be convinced, but Papa seemed almost to relish the prospect.

“Wouldn’t do for it to become _too_ easy, eh lads?”

Papa threw his head back and roared with laughter; his men returned his jocularity in full force. Reaching out a hand in his direction, Papa hooked a finger under the wide leather band that circled Merlin’s neck and jerked him closer. Inclining his head in the warlock’s direction, he asked,

“Run into any sparkers out there? Anyone look a threat to our boy here?”

It seemed there were a few, and indeed, it was the other sparkers who were proving the most recalcitrant in responding to the demands of Papa’s men.

“Thas all right...Merlin here will sort ‘em out right quick. Boy needs a bit of practice against other magickers now and then. Keep ‘im sharp.”

With that he looked at Merlin and laughed.

“About as sharp as a sack o’ wet mice, right Merlin? Hah!”

Releasing Merlin, Papa shoved him in Garret’s direction.

“Oi, see to Merlin, would you? Looks a right mess, he does.”

Used to Papa talking _about him_ , rather than _to_ him, Merlin stood and waited impassively as Garret took his arm in a soft hold.

“What you want me to do with ‘im, Boss?”

“Fix him up, would you? His head’s a bloody mess. Go on. See to it, and put him ta bed.”

Garret nodded and tugged on Merlin’s arm, leading him toward the line of carts, caravans and wagons that encircled the camp. Merlin followed without complaint. His head was still itching but it no longer ached, and he was just relieved to be home again. And with Papa’s good mood restored, Merlin could probably look forward to a peaceful evening.

Merlin had his own pen in the back of one of the wagons. As a child, Papa had made Merlin stay there all the time, only allowing him out when it was time for Merlin to practice his magic. He was still expected to stay there whenever he wasn’t working, but these days Papa and his men often forgot to lock the door. Merlin was never eager to remind them. It wasn’t because he ever left his pen; he knew better than to let Papa catch him where he wasn’t supposed to be. It was just that he liked the idea that he _could_ leave if he really wanted to.

The floor, ceiling, and three of the walls were made of wide, rough wood planks tightly fitted together while the fourth wall of his pen was a row of cold, iron bars. The space was miserably cold in winter because the wagon was always parked too far from any of the communal fires for Merlin to get any warmth from them. Summer was almost as uncomfortable since the small, stuffy box would only get a breeze if the wind happened to blow in the right direction. Wind and rain always found their way in between cracks and crevices in the wood, and it could sometimes take days for his space to dry once it got wet.

The only time he was ever properly sheltered from wind and weather was on the nights that Papa took Merlin into his own tent. And _those_ nights were no kind of mercy. Freezing cold, sweltering heat, driving snow, or pounding rain--Merlin would take any of them first. Almost _anything_ was better than a night with Papa.

Garret shoved him inside the pen and grunted something about Merlin staying put before he turned and left. Merlin sat down on his carefully made “bed”--a motley collection of threadbare blankets and mangy old furs no one else wanted--and waited for Garret to return. When he did, he thrust a roll of linen cloth through the bars of the pen and jerked his chin in Merlin’s general direction.

“There; take care of your head, Merlin. You look a fright.”

Taking it from Garret, Merlin cocked his head to the side and regarded the roll of cloth with curiosity. He turned it over in his hands several times, unsure of what to do with it. After a while, he set it aside and went rummaging under the bedding, coming up with a small, battered wooden box. A secret little smile curled up the corners of his mouth as he stroked its uneven surface.

Carefully lifting the lid, he stared at the contents for a long, reverential moment. Inside, nestled on a bed of the softest scraps of cloth Merlin could find, were his two most-prized possessions. He let his fingers trail gently over first one--a small wooden dragon with wings unfurled--and then the other-a doll fashioned from twigs and leaves with a ragged swath of flax fibers for hair. Both the dragon and the doll were clearly sized and shaped for the small hand of a child, and Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had them. Lifting the doll gently, he held it to his face and inhaled the sweet smell that always clung to it. A wave of warmth washed over him and his little smile grew into a grin. It never failed: just a tiny whiff of that beloved scent left him with a sense of wellbeing that couldn’t be matched by anything else. Then he exhaled, and noted the brittle rustle produced by the puff of air.

Frowning a bit, he carefully placed the doll back in the box and reached for the clasp on his collar with practiced fingers. He left the collar on but released the catch and felt the magic flow unfettered through his body. Eyes heating as he leaned over the box, he breathed his magic onto the little doll, rendering the drying, fragile fibers supple and strong once more. The doll was old and delicate, but Merlin loved it more than anything and was always careful in tending it.

Then there was his dragon. Carved from a single piece of wood, it was much more durable than the doll and Merlin didn’t fear to handle it. Indeed, he loved to hold it, loved to trace the sturdy little wings and the long tail that curved away from the body in a proud arch. Loved to hold it…loved it…loved…for some reason holding the little dragon always made Merlin feel loved. He couldn’t help but examine each tiny detail-the delicate snout and deep set eyes of the face, the frilled ridge that ran down the spine, the texture of each minute scale-and _know_ that whomever made this had done so with love.

No doubt Papa would scoff at such a notion; he wasn’t a man who tolerated any soft sentiment. So Merlin had never shared his thoughts about the dragon or the person who’d made it. Rather, he did his very best to keep Papa from even knowing he still possessed the toys. There was no telling what he might do. He _might_ not care at all…however Papa possessed an undeniably crueal streak and Merlin knew better than to risk it. Papa was unpredictable at the best of times.

After stroking his fingers over the dragon for a few minutes, Merlin went to place it back in the box when a drop of crimson liquid dripped from his face and fell on his beloved herb-doll. Wiping his forehead, his fingers came away red and he was reminded again of his sore, itchy scalp. His eyes fell on the rolled up linen that Garret had brought him. Distracted, he fingered the cloth, and beamed with pride as a use for it finally occurred to him. A few moments later, Merlin sighed with satisfaction as he resettled the herb-doll in the box, newly swathed in a protective cocoon of soft cloth.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

The long shadows of late afternoon gave way to the deepening gloom of evening and all around the camp, men (and a few women) began the familiar daily ritual of preparing for the coming night. Fires that had died down during the day were rebuilt to burn with vigor, horses were fed, water was hauled, and cook-pots began to bubble while the ale began to flow. Merlin wasn’t expected to participate in the completion of such tasks; he had his own carefully established rituals to perform.

For as long as he could remember, the evening hours had always been dedicated to training. Magic was Merlin’s sole purpose in life and Papa had drilled this into his head with a ruthless intensity. When Merlin had been younger, Papa had overseen this training himself. Once in a while, there had been other sparkers with spells for Merlin to learn. But it was usually just the two of them and the endless rote drills to harness Merlin’s ever increasing power to Papa’s whim and will. 

Discipline had been maintained through pain and deprivation, and optimal performance promoted through a haphazard system of praise and reward. Great breakthroughs were _sometimes_ met with spontaneous outbursts of rough affection, and oh how Merlin treasured those rare moments when Papa was pleased! He might ruffle Merlin’s hair, or squeeze Merlin’s arm while baring yellow teeth in a wide grin…once he’d even hugged Merlin. The times where Papa’s hands on Merlin’s flesh hadn’t meant pain or humiliation, the touches that Merlin hadn’t had to flinch away from…Merlin could remember every single one of them. It was the longing for these moments, a craving for Papa’s approval and affection, that drove Merlin to practice every night.

Papa no longer felt the need to oversee Merlin’s nightly training. He hadn’t had to _make_ Merlin practice in years. Now it was _Merlin_ who strove to find better ways to use the power that welled up inside him, seemingly without limit, from his very core.

When Papa had come to realize that Merlin no longer needed supervision--when Merlin had _proved_ his trustworthiness, his loyalty--Papa had rewarded Merlin with a new collar. A collar that didn’t lock. A collar that he could remove himself. Of course, Merlin never did; he wouldn’t dare. He always left the collar on; kept the animal inside his soul safely leashed.

Merlin had always worn a collar. His earliest memories centered around it, blurred by time but still so much a part of him. He could still feel the way his hands had worried at the chafing metal until they bled, how his bound magic built inside until it felt as if he’d burst like a stoppered wineskin left in the sun and then, when his collar finally _would_ come off, the way the raw, undisciplined power would blast from his pores, eager to escape the unaccustomed restraint. That…had hurt. Sometimes it hurt so much he’d pass out from the pain and wake to the sight of Papa’s angry face looming over him, a callused hand slapping his cheek hard to bring him around.

Gradually, Merlin’s magic had settled and ceased leaping madly when the collar was removed. _That_ was when Papa had begun to train him. Merlin had resisted at first. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the small animals cruelly confined in tight cages. Almost palpable to Merlin, their terror had been so horrifying that his own pain had seemed preferable…for a while. So to persuade Merlin, Papa had put _him_ in a cage and hurt him in their stead. 

He’d had to curl into a ball to fit inside that first pen, and Merlin could still remember the way his limbs would cramp from hours of holding them folded tight to his body. He could still remember Papa thrusting flaming brands between the bars to burn him, remembered the cuts from Papa’s blade, and the bites from the same small animals he’d refused to kill when Papa would force them to share the same tiny cage Merlin occupied. It had shamed Merlin how fast he’d obeyed Papa’s demands after that, but the shame hadn’t been enough to make him rebel anymore.

Merlin came to fear the removal of his collar, came to hate what he had to do whenever Papa twisted the lock open and slipped the metal band from his throat. Nothing good _ever_ happened. It always meant suffering for someone. Merlin always had a choice: the choice of bad or worse. He could either hurt or be hurt, kill or fear being killed. No matter how much he loathed what Papa made him do, Merlin’s survival instincts always win out in the end and made the choice for him. Merlin would live, and others would pay a heavy cost for his survival.

The rigid stricture and heavy weight of the collar soon became reassurance. The sigils carved on the cold iron kept his magic in check, tucked away at the back of his mind where he could still feel it but could not access it. As long as the spelled iron ringed his throat in an unbroken circle, Merlin couldn’t use his magic. The beast was tamed and Merlin would remain _Merlin_.

Eventually, Papa bridged the gap between boy and beast by training Merlin to not react when the collar was unlocked, but to wait until it was _removed_ before springing into whatever action was required by his master. His magic was loosened but Merlin didn’t _have_ to use it, didn’t have to _kill_ until the collar fell away completely.

Now Merlin sat with his collar open but still in place and began his first exercise of the night. He started by sinking deep inside himself to the place his magic sprang from. Wrapping his mind around that hot, pulsing core of golden energy, he _squeezed_ , watching with his mind’s eye as the glow began to shrink to a tiny spark, the magic becoming concentrated and compressed under the tight focus of his will. He pinched the base and broke it from the source, then held it fast. Keeping the energy tightly contained with one part of his mind, Merlin divided his attention and turned his focus outward to the physical world. Inhaling deeply, he pulled the fueling element from the Air around him and suffused his own blood with its nourishment. Freed from the need to draw breath, Merlin stilled his lungs and brought the power he’d encapsulated from his core and forced it to manifest in the barren air until it seethed in his palm with all the intensity of a young star.

Then he held it there.

[ ](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/257/4/6/46fc96368c97394779ba3ab6b9cb707a-d6ebsyw.jpg)

All that stood between that concentrated spark and total annihilation was the cushion of sterile air Merlin held around him. Instinctively he knew that if he allowed so much as a single atom of the fueling element to creep outside the null around him, the power would explode with enough force to scourge all of Albion from the skin of the world.

He let his heart beat a double dozen times before he forced the power back under his skin and returned it to his core where it belonged. Exhaling, he returned Air to its natural state and relaxed. Feeling giddy, he grinned a bit as he slumped against the back wall of his pen. Realizing that night had fallen properly while he’d been engaged in his excercise, he refastened his collar and glanced around. A pleased whine rose in his throat when he saw that some hardy soul--probably Garret’s woman Lyda--had come and left food for him.

Suddenly starving, Merlin’s gut cramped and he wasted no time snatching up the bowl in front of him. Heedless of any mess he might make, he used his fingers to scoop up chunks of meat and shovel them into his eager mouth. Gravy spilled down his hands, ran over his wrists and dripped along his arms to the elbow. When the meat was gone, he licked his hands clean and used his fingers to gather the juice from his arms then licked them clean again. He ripped into a chunk of hard, stale bread with his teeth, scattering crumbs everywhere then sat there for several minutes pressing his saliva damp fingers to the floor to gather them back up. Finally, there was only a small wedge of cheese and half a flagon of watery ale left. Slowing his frantic pace a little bit, he consumed them each in turn. A few more minutes were spent searching the floor for any stray crumbs he might have missed before Merlin sat back on his heels, satisfied.

Pleasantly full, Merlin sat and contemplated the flickering stripes of light that painted his arms and legs and fell across the floor of his pen. Merlin loved firelight, loved the way it moved and danced, how it was mischievous and unpredictable, never standing still, never fully illuminating _anything_. It was so very different from the steady, regular light that shone from sun, moon, and stars.

Lifting his eyes, Merlin looked beyond the bars of his cage and took in the familiar bawdy bustle of night life in the camp of a bandit king. Ringed by the line of carts and caravans was an area filled with a multitude of tents clustered around several large communal fires. As the night wore on and cups were drained to the dregs, there were spontaneous outbursts of song and dance, roguish laughter and sometimes even pleasurable groans from the people there assembled.

 

Most of them were men but there _were_ a few women in Kanen’s band, each of them twice as tough (and usually three times as coarse) as their male counterparts. Theirs was not an easy life and it made no difference to Kanen whether someone’s bits were soft and curvy or hard and angled as long as they took care of themselves and got the job done. If a woman could survive in such rough company, she was welcome to do so.

Only Merlin was different. He’d grown up beside these rough thugs, cutthroat thieves and cold-eyed killers, but he’d never been one of them. They lived close to the mayhem they committed, held it in their hands, wore the blood of the innocents they slaughtered with indifference. 

Merlin was a sparker, the only magic user in the gang, and while he was just as much a killer as any of them, unlike the others, he hadn’t _chosen_ this life. He’d _inherited_ it from the man _they_ called their leader but Merlin called “Papa”.

What Papa was to him, what he was to Papa…they were different from the rest. They were family. Papa had told Merlin that over and over: _they were family_ , told him that nothing was more important. Family _always_ came first. While a few members of the company, like Garret, had steady partners, most of them didn’t. Very few had _any_ permanent relationships, and no one else had _family_ in the gang...only Merlin and Papa.

Merlin worried a bit at his collar. He knew he should be practicing, but instead he found himself watching Garret with Lyda. He watched the way they smiled at each other, watched them exchange soft words and touches. Observed how they curled up together beside the fire, Lyda’s back slumped trustingly against Garret’s front, his arms loosely circling hers. 

Looking around the rest of the camp, Merlin saw some of the others doing the same. The majority of Kanen’s gang were unmated or only coupled on a transient basis. However, there were a few other permanent couples like Deke and June, Maedoc and Dreya, Cam and Wynnie, and even a few mated pairs of men like Aiden and Jon, Drustan and Idris. Merlin often found himself watching these camp couples with fascination.

His favourites, Garret and Lyda, were both tough as nails, as ruthless in their dealings as anyone else in the gang. But at the end of the day, when it was just the two of them, they were… _tender_ toward each other. Their smiles were soft, their hands gentle. The intimate noises that echoed from their tent late at night were twin cries of pleasure, and the exchange of knowing looks in the morning spoke of _mutual_ satisfaction. Most of the others had a similar dynamic and watching them always brought home to Merlin just how different he was, how different _he and Papa_ were.

****Warning As Described in Chapter Notes****

Of course, Kanen was Merlin’s papa and likely that was all the explanation needed. Mates were gentle, fathers weren’t. At least, _his_ wasn’t. (Never having closely witnessed any other parent/child relationship, Merlin didn’t really have any basis for comparison.) When Papa reached for Merlin, his touch bruised, and the only smile to curl Papa’s mouth was a smirk of possessive satisfaction. When Papa pulled Merlin into his tent at night, Merlin knew the cries that rose from within were anything but expressions of _mutual_ pleasure. Morning saw satisfaction painted across Papa’s face alone while Merlin limped back to his pen, head down, ashamed to even raise his eyes from the ground.

Merlin couldn’t really remember when the touching began. He knew it had come _after_ the collar but he wasn’t sure how long after. When he thought about it...everything was…confused. Impressions, thoughts, and feelings tangled together in dizzying disorientation. There was…warmth, Merlin could remember that. His cage outside was so cold, and Papa’s tent was warm. The furs Papa slept on were soft beneath him and Papa’s hands had been…hot. At first, it had felt _good_ when Papa touched him.

Big, strong palms smoothed down Merlin’s arms and stroked up his back. Starved for affection, Merlin had leaned eagerly into Papa’s touch, had been happy to return the touches when Papa asked. So happy had Merlin been that he hadn’t questioned anything, hadn’t wondered why Papa kept telling Merlin to be quiet even though he wasn’t making any noise. Or why his hands had trembled when he stripped the clothes from Merlin’s body, why he moaned when he rubbed his scarred face over the soft skin of Merlin’s belly. He did remember his discomfort though, when Papa had continued to rub further down, down between Merlin’s legs. He remembered his fear when Papa had guided Merlin’s hands between his own legs. Merlin had tried to pull away, but Papa wouldn’t let him, had hurt him for trying.

Soon after that, Papa had started making Merlin use his mouth as well as his hands. As Merlin grew, Papa became more and more interested in _Merlin’s_ body, his touch becoming ever more invasive as time wore on. Merlin often wished _all_ his memories were as hazy as those early ones, but they weren’t. Sadly, he could remember most of the nights he spent in Papa’s tent with crystal clarity...especially the night Papa declared that Merlin was “ _finally_ old enough”.

In one night, intimacy with Papa went from vaguely uncomfortable and embarrassing to a hell of agonizing pain and burning humiliation. It wasn’t just _the act_ that changed, Papa’s whole demeanor transformed along with it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever been soft and gentle with Merlin, but at least he had never been _overtly_ cruel and demeaning with his intimate attentions. That night, though…

When morning came, Merlin could barely walk. Later that afternoon, Merlin learned to fear the natural cycles of his own body as the simple act of defecating left him a crying, whimpering mess. After that, he didn’t eat for nearly three days, too afraid of the inevitable consequences. Much to his humiliation, Lyda had found him curled on his side, sobbing in the bushes. For once, she’d extended Merlin a bit of the softness she usually reserved for Garret, coaxing him down to the nearby stream to wash. The cold water had soothed some of his pain and Lyda had brought him a small pot of salve, explaining it could be used…”before”…and could make the “after” a bit less painful for Merlin in the future.

He’d been horrified to think of it happening again, but he hadn’t been so naive as to believe it wouldn’t. Sadly, Merlin had many an occasion after that to be grateful for Lyda’s kindness in providing him with the salve.

Thankfully for Merlin’s sake, Papa usually preferred the company of women to that of his “son” and didn’t require Merlin to service him that way _too_ often. When he did, he often wanted Merlin’s mouth, not his arse--which Merlin was grateful for. He didn’t even mind doing that for Papa…much. 

To be fair, there were actually even times Merlin _enjoyed_ what he and Papa did. Sometimes Papa wasn’t so violent. Sometimes it was the way it had been when Merlin was little and Papa’s touch was gentler. Merlin just wished it could be that way all the time. He _wanted_ to please Papa, loved it when Papa told him he had. It was just unfortunate for Merlin, that more often than not, what brought Papa the _most_ pleasure was causing Merlin pain and humiliation.

****End Warning****

Sighing a bit, Merlin continued to watch the camp settle in for the night, and if he envied some of the men out there, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful for what he had. Papa had raised Merlin on his own when he certainly hadn’t had to. There were no other children in their camp, though Merlin could remember several pregnancies among the camp’s women. Over the years, Merlin had even seen a few babies born from the confines of his cage. However, the children always disappeared within days, no exceptions…except for Merlin. Papa had found Merlin abandoned as a baby and kept him...and he made sure that Merlin knew _just_ how lucky he was.

Papa was the only family Merlin had. Papa...cared for him, fed him, sheltered him, clothed him, helped him control his magic...helped him control the monster he was inside. Merlin knew all this and was thankful for it. He might not always like what Papa made him do...he didn’t like hurting people, didn’t like killing them. But...he was an animal, and that was what animals did.

He _owed_ Papa, and he repaid that debt with loyalty and service-- _whatever_ service Papa required. He didn’t even question it.

This was Merlin’s life and _there was nothing else…_


	3. Chapter 2

[](http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/244/1/3/1374d3777d485a4b076ec83ade859b3f-d6ko05t.jpg)

Whenever he had the opportunity to do so, Merlin would try to prepare inside his mind for the moment Papa would remove his collar. He’d clear his thoughts, steel his nerves, and determine to see only targets, not people. He couldn’t even call them enemies most of the time. It was usually Papa who was the aggressor, unleashing Merlin on men in their own homes and businesses.

That day was no different. They’d come to Dunpelder to make their usual round of collections, though Merlin knew Papa was also intending to deviate from the norm at some point during the day with a visit to King Cenred’s castle. However, they began as they usually did, at a shabby, yet bustling inn on the south side of the city.

The sign hanging over the door crudely depicted a rotund scarlet dog with a white-tipped tail, declaring the place to be the Inn of the Portly Fox. Papa thumbed open the catch to Merlin’s collar and slid it from his neck before he even opened the door. Inside, they were immediately accosted by a lightly armoured man bearing a short sword. At a word from Papa, Merlin sent the man flying through air to land with a crash among the tables thickly populated by the taproom’s early morning patrons.

Already knowing who they were there to see, Merlin stalked ahead of Papa, Pel and Garret and arrived first at the bar to stare down a stranger who had stepped between them and the Innkeeper. Glancing between Merlin’s glowing golden eyes and the unconscious man lying among the splintered remains of a beer-soaked table, the man stepped away, muttering,

“Sorry Clem, you aren’t paying me _that_ much.”

Clem flipped his hands up in surrender and immediately began stripping the rings from his fingers as Papa held out an expectant hand.

Later that morning, as they approached the jeweler in High Street, Papa pulled Merlin up short and whipped the band from his throat with a strangely anticipatory gleam in his eye.

“Look sharp there, Merlin. We can expect a bit of a lively welcome as I hear old Master Cerrig’s gone and hired himself a sparker! If he so much as twitches, kill him. The sparker that is, not Cerrig. Got it?”

Nodding shortly, Merlin followed Papa through the door. Less than five minutes later, he sent the charred, smoking corpse of Cerrig’s sorcerer crashing through the same door and out into the street. Five minutes after that, the four of them were mounting up again, Papa’s saddlebag jingling with silver coin as he crowed his victory to everyone in earshot.

Papa didn’t bother with Merlin’s collar when they were admitted into the richly appointed front room of a wealthy judge’s multistory home later that morning. From previous visits, Merlin knew the creepy man made the majority of his money from taking bribes for his judgments. Having been treated to a display of Merlin’s power in the past, the crooked judge was completely cowed. He already had a bag of coin prepared to hand over when Papa settled himself onto a padded bench near the empty fireplace. Side-eyeing Merlin, the judge called for refreshments and proceeded to entertain Papa as if he were an honoured guest.

When they departed over an hour later, Papa directed them toward an unfamiliar section of the city. They were finally on the way to their special appointment.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Chin to chest, Merlin stuck close to Papa’s heel and did his best not to stare at the opulent surroundings. He’d learned many years ago that Papa didn’t like it when he gawked. But _this_ wasn’t anything Merlin had ever encountered before; this was a castle, and not just any castle, but the _King’s castle_ at that!

Everywhere he looked, there was something grand to gaze at. Thick walls of silvery granite were hung with rich tapestries, colourful paintings and huge gilt-edged mirrors. Ornate furniture filled every room and detailed sculptures in little recessed niches caught Merlin’s attention again and again as he shuffled along behind Papa. 

Papa strode through King Cenred’s halls as if he owned them, as if this was _his_ castle…as if _he_ was the king. Pel and Garret followed along without question, just as they always did.

“Ruddy royal bastard called on _me_ for aid, practically begged for my help. The fact that I’ve got to come here to collect, bringing _you_ along,” said Papa as he jerked Merlin by the arm, “Well, that’s just insult on top of injury, isn’t it?”

“No worries boss,” Pel chimed in, “I’m sure there won’t be no trouble. He’s got to have heard about our toothy little mutt here. He won’t want none of that.” 

“You’re right. Still, you’d think a king would attend to his debts a bit closer, wouldn’t you?”

Minutes later they were standing before the king in a richly appointed audience chamber. Merlin stood off to the side where Papa had ordered him to stay, doing his best to stay still and quiet as the men spoke. He let his attention wander around the room and paid little heed to the conversation until the discussion turned to him.

“Tell me something, Kanen. How did you ever manage to turn human to hound?”

Papa lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug.

“Picked him up as a pup. Trained him like you would any other mutt.”

Cenred leaned back in his throne, elbows tucked into his sides, fingers steepled before his face.

“So…correct me if I’m wrong but…if I fail to render payment on demand, you remove the beast’s collar. Have I got that right?”

“Absolutely right, your Highness,” said Papa, decidedly smug. Merlin snuck a glance at the King but hastily averted his eyes when he realized Cenred was staring right at him.

“So…you remove his collar and then...what? He kills us all, swift as thought?”

“I see Your Highness has been paying attention.” Smug and _mocking_ now. Merlin focused his attention on the colourful tapestry hanging behind the king’s throne and did his best to tune out the rest of the conversation.

“So…it seems it would behoove me to _not_ allow that collar to come off, wouldn’t you agree?”

The grin fell from Papa’s lips and he lunged toward Merlin only to be brought up short by the mail-clad arm of one of Cenred’s guards. As Merlin watched, the soldier clamped an arm across Papa’s throat and dragged him back, away from Merlin.

Arms flailing, heels slipping on the smooth planks of the polished floor, Papa kept reaching out toward Merlin as he stared in confusion at the scene before him.

“Merlin! Merlin, kill him! Kill him!”

Merlin didn’t know what to do.

Papa was angry, yelling at Merlin, shouting orders and part of Merlin wanted to respond, wanted to obey but…he couldn’t. Papa hadn’t removed his collar. As long as his collar stayed in place, Merlin was meant to be still, meant to wait. For years, over and over Papa had drilled it into him: Merlin wasn’t to attack until the collar came off. Only when the collar had come off and Papa had issued the order was he to use his magic to attack whomever (or whatever) Papa set him at.

But now, for the first time, Papa had issued the order, screaming it over and over, but he hadn’t removed the collar. Should Merlin…? No. Papa had told him over and over, pain and humiliation searing the lesson in Merlin’s mind: he was _not_ to attack until Papa took the collar away.

Looking away from Papa, Merlin could see Pel and Garret were also beset by several of the king’s guards. Steel clashed as they called to him, crying out his name, but Merlin closed his eyes and looked away. Until Papa took the collar _off_ Merlin was meant to stay still and wait.

Staring at the floor, Merlin could see Papa at the edge of his vision. He was on the floor, his hands raised to ward off the hard-soled boots of the soldiers as they stomped on him. The King was moving, coming to stand before Merlin. Frightened and confused, Merlin kept gaze trained firmly on the floor even as the King bent low to stare unblinkingly into Merlin’s eyes.

“Is there anything in there, I wonder?” Cenred murmured. It didn’t sound to Merlin as if the king was speaking to him, so he was careful not to respond in any way. After a few endless seconds, Cenred straightened and looked away.

“I do apologize Kanen, but I really have to dash. I’ve another audience to attend to. You understand, yes?” He laughed and turned back to eye Merlin for another long moment.

Turning his head but leaving his eyes on Merlin, Cenred called out a final order to his men. “Once you’ve dispatched that cur, put down his little bitch as well.” His gaze seemed to linger on Merlin’s mouth a while before he muttered, “Such a pity,” and was gone.

Merlin remained frozen in place…waiting, just waiting. Papa wasn’t calling for him anymore but he could make out the thud of fists on flesh and the ringing clash of sword on sword as he studiously examined the toes of his worn-out boots.

Suddenly there was a roar from Papa as he latched on to one of his attackers and wrenched the man off his feet. Snatching a dagger from the man’s belt, he slit the soldier’s throat and whirled to slice at the next guardsman looming over him. With lethal accuracy, he hooked the blade between the man’s legs and slashed deep into the flesh of his inner thigh. Great gouts of blood gushed forth and the man went down with a scream, clutching the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the sanguine flood.

His remaining attackers backed away, reaching for their swords and Papa took advantage of their hesitation. Lunging for Merlin, he managed to hook his fingers into the front of Merlin’s collar. He had the catch open before the guardsmen’s swords could even clear their sheaths.

He growled once in Merlin’s ear, “Kill them.”

Hand in the air, Merlin had the first group of soldiers targeted before his arm had finished scribing the arc up from hip to shoulder. A flash of light and they fell without a sound, smoke rising from the bodies.

Stalking forward, Merlin spared a thought to push Pel out of the way before reducing his opponent to ashes. Garret threw off his own attacker and dove out of the way as Merlin turned and hurled a ball of fire straight at the man’s chest. The missile hit the target and burst, spreading out to engulf the man in flames. A scream erupted from his throat as he was consumed, writhing and clawing at his blackened, peeling flesh. 

Merlin was turning away to scan for more opponents before the screaming man even fell. The king’s guards were fleeing from every exit. Kanen took a few cautious steps toward Garret, pulling Pel along with him. Merlin stepped in front of his three companions and faced outwards. Clapping his hands together once, he sent a shockwave through the room that took all the remaining soldiers off their feet.

About half the men who fell never rose again, the rest scrambled shakily to their feet, still desperately trying for the imagined safety of the halls beyond the doors. A few even managed to slip away. Moments later, those that hadn’t were engulfed in a blinding white light. The incandescence lasted as long as it took Merlin to breathe in and then out. When it faded, there was nothing left of the soldiers but scattered piles of fine gray powder.

Papa grabbed Merlin by the shoulder and hauled him close. Squeezing hard, he shook Merlin once and ordered, “Find Cenred. Kill his men but leave _him_ for me.”

The powdered remains of the King’s men scritched beneath his boots as Merlin made for the door he’d seen Cenred depart through. Gaining the hall beyond, Merlin paused for a moment and stretched out his senses. It didn’t take long to locate the king holding audience in an even larger chamber just down the corridor. Several soldiers stood guard at the door. Merlin sent them flying, leading Papa, Garret and Pel forward as they crashed against the far wall with enough force to crack the stone blocks.

Finding the door to the larger audience chamber locked, Merlin pressed his hand to it and sent a pulse through the wood that shook it to splinters. Two mail-clad men in the grey, serpent-emblazoned surcoats of Cenred’s army stared back at him through the sudden void. He crushed their throats with a thought and stepped through the doorway.

Once inside the room, Merlin surveyed the space, searching for more men in grey. One small group made it easy by rushing toward him while many of the room’s occupants were stepping away, cowering up against the walls. Merlin swept a hand out to the side, shattering the closest window. Gathering the falling shards of glass, he flung them at the advancing men with deadly accuracy, piercing skulls and slashing throats. Blood sprayed in every direction and screams rent the air as courtiers and other non-combatants panicked and began to flee the scene.

Merlin let them go. Papa had been very specific about who Merlin was there to kill--Cenred’s men and _only_ Cenred’s men.

Half a dozen grey-clad men snaked through the fleeing crowd, converging on Merlin from either side in a flanking maneuver. Unwilling to harm the (relatively) innocent people all around them, Merlin concentrated briefly, seeking out and finding only the soldiers’ beating hearts. Theirs pulsed rapidly but steadily, instead of the erratic pounding rhythm that characterized the terror-stricken civilians. One by one, he found them and reached inside of them to hook a thread of power around each fragile organ. When he’d finally found them all, one by one he stopped them...his power curling tight around their hearts and squeezing till each ceased to beat. Their lifeless bodies fell and were forgotten, trampled under the frantic feet of frightened courtiers.

Another group of guards charged Merlin and suddenly found themselves tripping en masse and falling on their own unsheathed swords. Detouring around the groaning bodies, Merlin pressed deeper into the room, heading toward the throne and the men he could see gathered round it.

Seven armoured men stepped forward at his approach. These were clearly Cenred’s elite guard, as they wore expensive plate mail rather than the more common chain. Such armour would offer better protection against a more conventional foe, but Merlin was anything but conventional. Eyes blazing, he reached out a hand toward the men charging his way. Palm up, he curled each of his long fingers inward to form a loose fist..and then squeezed. Focusing on the shining chest plates, he watched as they buckled inward, first pinching and then crushing the ribs they were meant to protect. One man grunted and another squeaked as the air was forced from their lungs an instant before shattered bone and blood filled the rapidly diminishing cavities. Wide eyes bulged as vital crimson flowed from gaping mouths and bubbled from twitching nostrils.

Opening his fist, fingers fanning away from flattened palm, Merlin released his victims. He didn’t watch as they fell. He was already locating the next threat: another knot of grey-clad guardsmen--this time wearing simple chain mail. Glowing golden eyes narrowing, he focused his will on their armour as well. A moment later the steel reddened, rapidly blooming with heat. Men shrieked as surcoats and gambesons ignited and the glowing steel held flaming cloth tight to their flesh. Seconds later, the body fat trapped beneath scorching skin combusted from the intense heat and each guard lit up like a human torch. 

By now, only a handful of civilians remained. Most of them clustered near the throne and their King, who cowered _on_ it. Only a single guard stood between Merlin and the crowned head of Essetir.

Hearing a shout behind him, Merlin whirled around in time to see fifteen well-armed men storm through the shattered door at the rear of the room. They smashed aside the skinny young pageboy unfortunate enough to be caught in their path, and Merlin saw red as the boy went down with a crash and a whimper.

Rage heated Merlin’s blood and he in turn heated theirs. Feeding fire into their veins, he heated the blood rushing within until cells burst and serum began to churn and froth. One by one they clutched themselves and dropped to the floor. Clawing at their flesh, they sought relief from the scalding heat rushing and rising under their skin.

Dark pink foam bubbled past wide-stretched lips, turning screams to soppy gurgles in swollen, pulpy throats. Blood-flecked froth gushed from flaring nostrils still working desperately to suck air into rapidly filling lungs. The sounds of their distress grew ever more wet and raspy before stopping altogether as blood turned entirely to vapor and steamed from every pore. The few people left in the audience hall watched in horror as the bodies began to waste, shrinking and shriveling up like raisins in the sun as all the moisture that once gave firmness to flesh was boiled away.

Turning back to the throne with a snarl, Merlin pinned Cenred in place as Papa stalked forward, rage rolling off him in almost palpable waves. Somehow his anger steadied Merlin’s own agitation, allowing some of the tension to seep from his tightly knotted muscles.

“You couldn’t just pay what you owed, could you? Oh no...royalty, eh? Think you can just take whatever you want and there won’t be any consequences, don’t you?”

Struggling feebly against Merlin’s magical hold, Cenred jerked his head to the side, where a chest of gold lay open by his feet.

“Take it. Just take it all,” he panted, rank terror rising from his skin.

Papa shook his head, blood trailing down his face from a deep cut over his eye. Bruises blooming over cheek and jaw, he curled one swelling lip in disgust.

“Oh no, _I’m_ an honest man, damn your eyes. I’ll take what you owe me, and perhaps an extra percentage to cover the cost of damages.”

Papa gestured to Garret who came forward with a leather bag. Pel joined him and they began counting coins and loading them into the bag while Papa paced back and forth.

“You know what I don’t get, Cenred? You called on _me_. You begged for _my_ help and when I graciously extended my aid, this is how you repay my generosity? Your mum really didn’t tend to your education very well, did she? Thought royalty were supposed to be the first stare in good manners, but you? You’ve got all the refinement of a wild pig and half the real-world value. “

The sound of snickering caught Merlin’s attention. Following the sound to its source led to a tall, rangy man with rough-cut hair and a wide, yellow grin. Dressed like a barbarian in a long, sleeveless robe of black fur, he wasn’t cowering or cringing like the rest of the men gathered around Cenred’s throne. He was staring right at Merlin, a strange, almost acquisitive gleam in his eye.

Papa had also turned to look at the man, and noticing the direction of his gaze snapped, “Something amusing you, mate?”

Eyes still on Merlin, the man’s voice was gruff but low, his tone musing when he responded, “Don’t know if I’d call it amusing… _entertaining_ certainly but, no…” His eyes flickered in Cenred’s direction. “I don’t think I’d call this _funny_.”

“All sorted, Boss,” Garret called out. Papa turned away, clearly dismissing the man from his thoughts as he grabbed Merlin by the arm, slipped his collar back on, and dragged him toward the exit.

“Don’t bother calling on me again, Cenred,” Papa said as he backed out of the room. Merlin trailed along behind him obediently. “Your credit’s no good with me anymore.”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“What the hell was that back there, eh?” The words burst from Papa’s lips as soon as they were outside. Hauling Merlin around, Papa took him by the scruff of the neck and shook him hard.

“A dog is supposed to come to his master’s aid! You did _nothing!_ You just let them wallop me! They’d have killed me while you just stood there staring and drooling like a simpleton!” 

Papa shook him again and slapped him upside the head. Reddened ear stinging, Merlin whined in apology. He wanted to speak up, wanted to explain, but he knew Papa wouldn’t want to hear it. He was blazingly angry and any attempt by Merlin to defend himself would just make it worse. Taking Merlin’s thin upper arm in a crushing grip, Papa hauled him down the stairs leading into the stable yard. When they reached the bottom, Papa shoved him into a rough stumble toward the horses.

“Hey Boss, you wanting to finish up or should we just call it a day and go home?”

“What we got left?”

“Just old Elmira over at The Lance.”

“Ah hell, let’s do it. Maybe I can work off some of this with one of the girls while we’re at it.”

They mounted up and headed back out into the city. Aware that he was still in trouble, Merlin kept his head low and his eyes on the ground in front of his horse’s hooves. He was careful to ride _behind_ Papa, keeping close but doing his best to remain unobtrusive.

Winding through the crowded and narrow city streets, it took longer than it should have to reach the southern quarter of the city. As such, Papa’s mood had not improved by the time they finally arrived at their destination, an establishment known called “The Lancer’s Tilt”. Unlike the King’s castle, the brothel was one of their regular stops. Merlin had only been allowed inside once, but his unabashed staring had bothered the madam Elmira, who complained that Merlin was “creepy” and told Papa to get him out before he scared off the clientele. Since then, whenever they visited, Papa left Merlin outside in the street.

After dismounting in the street, Papa called for him. “Oi, Merlin!” Thumbing the catch to Merlin’s collar open, he commanded, “Get us a bird, will ya?”

Merlin lifted his eyes and scanned the visible rooftops until he spotted a sparrow fluttering near an open window. Infusing his voice with just a hint of power, Merlin chirped at the little creature and held out his hand. When the sparrow landed in his palm, he took a moment to get inside its tiny head. There wasn’t much room for any thoughts beyond FOOD, HOME and MATE but Merlin took what space there was and crammed it full of instructions. When he was certain the bird would do as commanded, he carefully handed it over to Papa.

“All right. You know what to do, Merlin. You wait out here and we’ll be back. You watch, and if the bird comes back without me, you come and find me, yeah?”

Examining the building before him, Merlin saw several open windows. If it should need to, the bird could find its way back to Merlin. Papa, Pel and Garret entered the brothel and a few minutes later, a small boy came to collect the horses from Merlin.

Left to his own devices, Merlin passed the time watching the neighborhood’s many denizens coming and going. He wandered away from The Lance, knowing that Papa was very unlikely to use the bird. They’d been there a dozen times or more and there’d never been any trouble that Pel, Garret and Papa couldn’t handle on their own. Elmira might be a sour old trout, but _old_ was the operative word. She’d been old as far back as Merlin could remember and she’d never done more than curse at Papa when he showed up to collect “his dues.”

There were few windows at street level, and most of them were closed off with wooden shutters that were rarely opened by the residents within but most of the business establishments had signs hanging out front that identified what went on inside. The Lancer’s Tilt for instance, had a very suggestive sign depicting a “mounted” knight and his “lady”. A few doors down, Merlin recognized The Blue Wolf Tavern from the carved wooden plaque above the door-a bright blue wolf with a tankard clutched in one anthropomorphic paw. 

Across the street, above a small, nondescript door hung a simple plank of wood. On it, a large needle and thread crudely painted in faded colours indicated that a seamstress’ plied her trade within. The cobbler shop next door had a sign showing a pair of sturdy boots, and while no more imaginative than the seamstress’ sign, it was at least of better quality, proving the cobbler’s business to be the more prosperous of the two. A wooden loaf of bread hung above an open doorway a few steps beyond the shoemaker’s shop, but the scent of freshly made wares that wafted out onto the street was far better advertising for the baker within. The next block was taken up by a large, busy inn. The Sleepy Fool sported a magnificently carved and painted sign depicting a sleeping jester curled round an ale barrel.

In the other direction, there was a hatmaker, a glover, and a chandler each with an appropriately painted placard to announce themselves (a hat, a pair of gloves and a burning candle respectively). The rugmaker had hung a sample of his work over the door, while the cooper had simply nailed a barrel to the wall outside his workshop to alert passersby of what was available within. The blacksmith at the far end of the road needed no sign as the noise from the forge was unmistakable. _If_ one managed to somehow miss the noise, there was an old, pitted anvil in yard to clue in the hard-of-hearing.

Stomach rumbling, Merlin’s eyes followed his after his appetite and strayed back toward the bakery. That’s when he noticed it; a sign he’d never seen before. It was shaped like a deep, footed bowl with a handle of some sort showing above the rim. Merlin had the vague idea that the handle was used to grind things up in the bowl, but he wasn’t sure why or even _how_ he knew that. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a thing used in Papa’s camp, and yet…something about it teased at Merlin’s mind like…like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. Intrigued, Merlin directed his footsteps toward the place where the strange sign hung.

The shop was small, and the door leading inside wasn’t actually even _on_ the street itself but rather faced into a tight little alley carved into the gap between two sagging buildings. Through the tiny window beside the door, Merlin could see nothing but rows and rows of clay jars, glass bottles and wooden canisters. Curious, Merlin pushed the door open and cautiously peered within.

A new world full of beguiling sights and intoxicating aromas pulled him through the door to stand inside and gape in wonder at his surroundings. For a long moment, Merlin did nothing but stare all around while he drew lungful after lungful of the wonderful air that filled the space. Like the sign outside, there was something about the smell that teased at him like a memory, and he suddenly found himself fighting the inexplicable urge to cry.

“Is someone there?” a deep, gravelly voice called out.

Despite its gruffness, the voice sounded warm and welcoming. Unused to talking to anyone who wasn’t Papa, Merlin didn’t answer but neither did he retreat. Instead he ducked his head and shuffled further inside, drawn forward by the myriad of alluring scents currently overwhelming his olfactory senses.

“Ah! There you are.”

The voice belonged to a tall man with a headful of wavy white hair that brushed the collar of his richly embroidered robe. He emerged from behind a pile of boxes near the back of the crowded shop, wiping long, purple stained fingers on a large rag covered with a colourful multitude of random splotches. His eyes twinkled and a smile warmed his craggy features.

“Well, you look a bit on the spindly side, son. Is it worms?”

Frowning in confusion, Merlin pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side.

“This is an apothecary son, are you ill?” Merlin shook his head.

“Got rats? Need some arsenic?” Again, Merlin shook his head.

“All right then, you’ll find the culinarius over there.” He considered Merlin for a moment before asking, “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

Once more, Merlin shook his head. Suddenly the man laughed out loud, and coming closer, clapped Merlin on the shoulder. Merlin did his best not to flinch away.

“Not much for talking, are you, boy? So, if you didn’t come in here looking for anything, what did you come for?”

Merlin bit his lip and struggled to find words to express the mix of vague memory and intense longing that had drawn him inside the crowded little shop.

“Don’t strain yourself, son. Just some good old fashioned curiosity, I suspect. Am I right?”

Shyly meeting the faded blue of the kindly man’s eyes, Merlin was finally able to _nod_ an affirmative response.

“Well then, why don’t I show you around a bit? Is that all right?” This time Merlin’s nod was eager.

Introducing himself as Jago, he began with the piles of dried herbs he had been working on prior to Merlin’s arrival in the shop. There was a feather-leafed plant called yarrow, spikes of barbed sticklewort, and a large pile of fuzzy leaves Jago identified as comfrey. He showed Merlin rows of glass bottles that held something he called “tinctures” and said the steaming liquid cooling in a large cauldron was an “infusion”.

It was all fascinating but Merlin found himself continually sneaking glances at several large books stacked in a pile on a bench by the window. Merlin couldn’t read and had never held a book in his life, but he knew what they were. He knew it was silly, but he felt a deep longing inside to just hold one and carefully turn its pages, to look on the incomprehensible inky squiggles and know he was holding someone’s words in his hands. To have the knowledge those words contained right at his fingertips was a heady thought indeed.

Eventually Jago noticed the surreptitious glances and chuckled.

“Want to look at the books, do you? Can you read at all?”

Merlin shook his head but he followed Jago eagerly as he headed for the pile of books. Sitting down, the elderly man gestured for Merlin to join him before he lifted cover of the nearest volume and showed it to the fascinated boy. As Merlin stared in wonder, Jago turned the pages and described some of what was written there. Coming to a richly illustrated page, he paused to let Merlin drink his fill of the lovely art and glanced out the nearby window.

“Huh, will you look at that? I wonder what’s wrong with that bird? It’s practically _attacking_ the window!”

Alarmed, Merlin jerked his eyes to the window and saw the sparrow he’d enchanted for Papa frantically pecking at the apothecary’s window. Bursting out the door into the alley, he scrambled into the street and sprinted for The Lance. Remembering Papa’s instructions and his failure at the castle, Merlin scrabbled at his neck, flipped the catch of his collar open and blasted the door off the building before he’d even skidded to a halt in front of it. The bird dove into the entrance and he followed it inside, down a narrow corridor and a flight of stairs.

He made it just in time to see Papa and Garret finish gutting a pair of thugs while Pel struggled with a third. Three more men lay dead at their feet on the hard-packed dirt floor of the brothel’s cellar.

“Where the fuck were you!?” Papa roared at Merlin as Pel’s opponent finally fell to join his accomplices on the floor. Although they’d clearly come out the victors of an uneven fight, all three men sported injuries of varying severity. Papa’s head wound was open and bleeding once again and there was a new cut high on his left arm. Pel was pulling a short knife from the side of his leg and Garret was covered with shallow cuts and bruises. To a man, they all glared at Merlin in fury.

Papa backhanded Merlin to the ground with a snarl then stepped over his body and disappeared up the stairs. Garret didn’t say a word as he passed, but Pel kicked Merlin in the ribs before he ascended the stairs after the other two men. Knowing he was in for worse punishment, Merlin still got to his feet and dutifully followed his master. He always would, no matter how hard he was kicked or how badly he was beaten. This was his family. This was his life.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“Get back in the cage, you stupid mutt, or I swear to _fuck_ I’ll neuter you myself!”

Almost tripping over his feet in his haste to obey, Merlin rushed for the safety of his pen, climbing inside to curl up on his nest of blankets. He could still hear Papa crashing around and cursing impatiently at his underlings. Papa had raged at Merlin all the way back from Dunpelder, so angry that he’d forced Merlin to walk home behind the horses.

“ _Men_ ride horses, Cur! Dogs walk and they keep up or else they’re dragged.”

Merlin did his best but he didn’t have the wind to keep up. Rarely allowed out of his cage for anything, let alone exercise, Merlin was sweating profusely after a mile, out of breath after two, stumbling after three and on his knees after four. Papa had made good on his threat of dragging Merlin but relented after just a few yards. After directing Garret to tie Merlin face down over his horse’s saddle, Papa pointedly ignored him for the rest of the journey.

Resigning himself to a hungry night, knowing full well _no one_ would dare Papa’s wrath to bring him some supper, Merlin propped his chin on one fist and watched life carry on as usual outside his cage. Papa’s cursing had tapered off into loud muttering but eventually even that faded until Merlin couldn’t hear him at all. The men drifted off to their tents and fires and gradually the regular camp rhythm was restored.

Papa was one of the last to retire to his personal tent, glaring in Merlin’s direction as he passed. It would be a long time before Merlin was forgiven for the offenses he’d committed that day.

With his empty stomach paining him, sleep was a long time in coming, but Merlin had finally just begun to drift off when he heard shouting from the edge of camp. Intruders? Merlin perked up immediately, readying himself for action should there be a call. He would not let Papa down again.

However, while swords were drawn, no mayhem ensued. Instead, a man walked into the clearing with his hands raised, palms open and empty. There was something familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place him until he noticed the long, black, sleeveless fur robe the man was wearing. It was the man from Cenred’s throne room! The one who’d been openly snickering as the King cowered before Papa’s wrath.

“Kanen! I don’t want any trouble! I’m not here for that,” the man called out. He stood straight and tall despite having the point of Pel’s sword at his back.

Throwing the flap to his tent aside, Papa burst out, a deep scowl on his face. “Yeah? Then what _are_ you here for?”

“To extend to you the hand of opportunity.” The man glanced toward Merlin’s cage briefly, then continued, “I have a proposition for you. I guarantee you won’t regret sparing me a few minutes of your time.”

Brows lowered and lip curled, Papa tilted his head to one side as he considered the man before him.

“What kind of proposition? And who the hell are you?”

“I’d have introduced myself earlier today, but it didn’t really seem to be the best time for it. My name is Jarl.”

“The slave trader?”

“That’s one of the things I do, yes.”

Though he still looked wary, Papa gestured for Pel to lower his sword.

“What the hell do you want with me?”

Jarl smiled and strolled forward into conversation range with Papa. Though he was closer now, Merlin noted Jarl was clever enough to still leave a respectful distance between them.

“I really enjoyed that little display you gave our dear king today. I like a good fight. Who doesn’t?”

Rapidly losing his patience, Papa shifted on his feet and snapped, “Get to the point.”

Unimpressed with Papa’s hostile posturing, Jarl’s smile took on a decidedly smug curve.

“Like I said, I like watching a good fight, especially one involving magic. I have a number of friends with similar interests. Every month or so we get together to indulge this interest. I’d like to invite you to join us…you and your little _pet_ over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of Merlin’s cage.

“Well, much as I’d just _love_ to indulge your interests, I don’t see what’s in it for me.”

Jarl laughed.

“Money! Lots and lots of money.”

“Yeah?” Interest engaged, Papa’s impatience vanished in an instant. “How’s it work?”

“We gather together the best battle mages in the land and we pit them against each other in a series of contests. As the host of the games, I supply the winner’s purse but all of us enjoy a good bet on the side. If your little pup there wins his first fight, you get to join us in the wagering.”

“What kind of numbers are we talking?”

“First time winner’s fee is fifty gold and the right to bet on any fight. Win a second time and the purse increases to two hundred, then five hundred for every win after that.”

Licking his lips, Papa eyed Jarl and asked, “What about the wagers? What kind of stakes are we talking?”

 

“It varies from month to month, fighter to fighter but I’ve never seen a bet for less than a hundred gold.”

Jarl turned away from Kanen and stepped closer to Merlin’s cage, speculation in his eyes. Papa stiffened as Jarl drew close to Merlin but he didn’t say a word.

“If your boy is as… _talented_ as I suspect he is, you’ll need to bring some of your men along just to carry back the coin.”

A grin spread across Papa’s face as the familiar glint of greed lit his eyes. He stepped closer to Jarl and clasped his shoulder as if greeting a dear friend.

“Well then,” Papa declared, “let the games begin!”


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This chapter contains graphic descriptions of a rape. If you find such content disturbing, please skip the entire first section to the line break.** (The rape is also more specifically marked with a warning like the one used in Chapter 1)  
> 

[ ](http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/244/1/3/1374d3777d485a4b076ec83ade859b3f-d6ko05t.jpg)

A feminine shriek pierced the night, the shrill sound pulling Merlin from his sleep. Another shriek followed, then a giggle and finally a masculine chuckle. Curious, Merlin rolled from his blankets and up onto his knees, peering through the bars of his cage.

He could just make out the dim outlines of a man and a woman as they lurched in sight of the wagons. Silhouettes merged on one side, the two figures were plastered together as if each was holding the other upright. Merlin watched as they headed his way. When the pair finally stumbled into the light of the nearest fire, he immediately recognized the man as Papa, and though he didn’t recognize the woman, he could see she was the kind of woman Papa referred to as “a tart”.

She wore her dark hair loose and uncovered,the paint on her face thick and obvious. Clumsily applied by a heavy hand, it served only to highlight the signs of age it was probably intended to disguise. Her tight-fitted gown was unlaced in front, the smock beneath pulled wide and low, hanging loose over a large, pale bosom. Papa had one arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her forward into the light of the fire while the other brazenly cupped one half-exposed breast. He mouthed at her neck and she tipped her head back accommodatingly. 

Merlin figured the woman must be ticklish because she continued to giggle and shriek as Papa licked and nibbled his way down her neck and over her breasts, exposing even more of her flesh as he went. Wide-awake and unlikely to get back to sleep for all the noise the tart was making, Merlin didn’t think twice about watching the act playing out in front of him. He always watched the world outside his little pen.

Papa urged the tart down to the ground and snaked a hand up under the hem of her dress. Absorbed by the scene playing out in front of him, Merlin watched as Papa pulled the cloth higher and higher, exposing a pale pair of plump thighs to the cool night air. Merlin had never been with a woman himself, however over the years he’d observed a fair number of couplings through the bars of his cage. It was unusual for Papa to rut out in the open like this, though. Whether he was tupping Merlin or some random tart, Papa usually preferred to fulfill his needs in the privacy of his own tent.

One possible reason for that became apparent when the tart caught sight of Merlin in his cage, blue eyes wide and watchful. She let out another shrill squeal, this time of outrage, turning to slap Papa’s hands away from her body.

“Oh my god, you sick bastard! Who the fuck is that?”

“What? Him? Don’t pay him no mind, Darling. He’s nobody, nothing. Just a stray mutt I picked up years ago.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not a dog, it’s a boy! What sort of sick fuck keeps a _boy_ locked up in a cage? ”

The woman pushed at Papa’s arms and wriggled away with intent. 

“Get off! Get off! Get off!!”

Letting her go, Papa got to his feet and glared at Merlin as she rolled away, tugging her smock up to cover her heaving breasts. Looking back to his companion, Papa tried again.

“You don’t get it, he’s not just a boy, he’s a fucking beast! I gotta keep him in there or he’ll tear the place up! Trust me love, it’s as much to keep him safe as it is for everyone else.”

 

“I ain’t your love and I ain’t staying, you degenerate, “ she said, struggling upright. She delivered a stinging slap to Papa’s bearded cheek and stalked off into the darkness, muttering loudly to herself.

Fists clenched, jaw tensed and lips folded in a thin line, Papa followed, moving away from the firelight. Though he couldn’t see them anymore, Merlin could still hear their voices. Muffled and low as they were, it was impossible to make out what they were saying. Despite the signs of anger Merlin had seen on him, Papa’s tone remained conciliatory while the tart still sounded angry. Their voices faded little by little until Merlin couldn’t hear them at all. He prayed that the woman would relent and give Papa what he wanted, but just a few minutes later, Papa returned…alone.

****Warning as Described in Chapter Notes****

Making straight for Merlin’s cage, he came around the side and ripped the door open. Reaching inside, he grabbed Merlin’s right foot and pulled hard. Yelping in surprise, Merlin found himself dragged from the cage, his head bouncing off the floor as he fell out the door. Landing in a heap at Papa’s feet, he was immediately yanked upright by the hair.

“You miserable little fuck!”

A stinging backhand whipped Merlin’s head to the left.

“You’ve been doing it on purpose, haven’t ya?” 

An open palm rocked him back the other way.

“I thought it was just you. Dumb as a dog, you are. Too fucking stupid to know better.”

Merlin flailed, tried to right himself but there was a hard grip on his shoulder, spinning him around, away from Papa.

“But it ain’t that, is it? Ain’t you just being dumb. You keep fucking everything up…and that ain’t no accident.”

Papa’s hand closed around Merlin’s throat and squeezed.

“You’re trying to fuck with me. Thought I trained you better than that. Thought you learned that lesson years ago. Maybe you forgot. Maybe you need reminding. Eh?”

Hauled backwards, Merlin’s back slammed into Papa’s front. Tugging him down by the neck, Papa widened his stance, tucked Merlin between his legs and rubbed his hardening bulge against the curve of Merlin’s arse.

“Need to remember who’s in charge. Remember who makes things happen! Cuz it sure as shit ain’t you,” Papa said, leaning in close, breath hot on Merlin’s neck, the last word a menacing purr in his ear, “ _Bitch_.”

A soft whimper escaped Merlin’s throat as he flinched. He hated that word. He hated it when Papa called him that: Bitch. Hated it because Papa _meant_ it. Merlin was his bitch. His bitch to mount, his bitch to breed, his bitch to use…in every way there was. And when Papa called him Bitch, it meant he was about to do all three in the roughest ways possible.

Papa shoved him hard, sending Merlin sprawling face down on the ground.

“Get inside,” he snarled.

Knowing to rise only as far as hands and knees, Merlin followed the drill and crawled over the hard ground to Papa’s tent, his tall, angry master looming over him every inch of the way. Once inside, he began to squirm out of his ragged shirt and trousers without raising himself from the floor.

Papa’s, “Faster, Bitch!” was accompanied by a kick to the ribs that drove all the air from his lungs and sent a shirtless Merlin sprawling once more. He rolled back up onto elbows and knees, and finished pushing his trousers down his thighs before crawling out of them. Still struggling for air, he crept toward the pallet of blankets and furs on his belly.

“Present, Bitch!” Papa snapped.

Immediately, Merlin dropped his face and chest to the floor, spread his knees wide and raised his bum in the air as high as he could.

“That’s it _Bitch_! Get that arse up for Papa. Fucking whore! Act like you don’t know, like you fucking _forgot!_ ”

Merlin saw Papa rear back, watched as the booted foot came up between his thighs but could do nothing to avoid the blow. Driven forward from the force of it, a raspy grunt was driven from his throat taking all his breath with it as his balls exploded with pain. His guts seized as the sickening ache radiated up from his groin. He battled the gorge rising in his throat, beating back successive waves of nausea as Papa continued to shout at him.

“Don’t give me that shit, you dumb fucking bitch! You fucking remember! You know what you’re for, why you exist, the _only_ fucking thing you’re good for!”

Crouching behind him, Papa reached between Merlin’s legs, grabbed his throbbing nuts and squeezed. Screaming and sobbing in agony, Merlin writhed in Papa’s grip but he didn’t fight…he never fought, he knew better than that. Fighting only made it worse, made Papa angrier, made it last longer. The fastest way to end the pain was to just suffer through it.

Weighing Merlin’s balls in his hand, Papa mused, “You’d be better off without these, you know. They make you ornery, make you stupid. I _should_ just cut ‘em off, finally make you a proper Bitch.”

Still trembling and sweating, Merlin froze in place as a cold wave of terror washed over him. He didn’t dare so much as breathe for fear of provoking Papa further. There was every chance he’d do it. With the mood Papa was in, none of his threats were idle.

“Roll over Bitch, let me see ‘em.”

Obediently turning onto his back, Merlin raised his knees and spread his long legs as wide as he could. Papa nudged his soft cock aside and roughly grabbed Merlin’s reddened sac. Merlin locked his knees in place, bit his lip, and though he tried not to, he couldn’t help but flinch as Papa ran his thumb over the firm, round little organs inside, pressed down on them and rolled them around in their pouch of wrinkled skin.

“Quit trying to think with these, Bitch, and I might just let you keep them.”

Twisting his wrist, Papa squeezed hard, and this time Merlin couldn’t hold still, couldn’t keep from crying out and retching as the sickening pain flared anew. Papa held the thrashing boy down with one hand, squeezing and pulling with the other.

Beyond any control now, Merlin gave in and let his agony show. It was Papa’s goal anyway--to make Merlin suffer, to punish him for his mistakes, his disobedience. Merlin sobbed when Papa released him, groaned when he was ordered back into position, and whimpered as Papa reared up behind him, yanked his cheeks apart and ruthlessly spread him open. Then Merlin screamed, the sound hoarse and ugly as Papa shoved inside his body dry--blunt and thick, and stony hard.

It was bad…as bad as it had ever been with Papa. He gripped Merlin’s hips so hard that he feared they might shatter, and he knew with horrible surety that he was torn up inside. He could feel the blood seeping down his thighs as Papa pumped inside him. His balls continued to throb and ache sickeningly as Papa’s sac slapped against them with every sharp thrust of his hips. Papa’s teeth became yet another torment as he latched on to the base Merlin’s throat and bit down. Worrying at Merlin’s neck like a tom cat with a queen, he sank his teeth into Merlin’s flesh over and over, licking hungrily at the blood that ran wherever Merlin’s skin broke.

Then Papa straightened up and brought his hands forward to grip Merlin by the shoulders. By forcibly minimizing Merlin’s forward movement, Papa was able to drive even deeper into the core of Merlin’s aching body. It felt more like being fucked with a sharp blade than a blunt cock and it broke Merlin entirely. Losing the last tenuous threads of self-control, Merlin thrashed wildly in Papa’s hold, head twisting side to side, hips bucking and spine hunching with agony. Any delusion of self-possession was long gone; he was wholly Papa’s plaything. Nothing of Merlin was his own to control, and Papa lost no time in driving that lesson home.

Twisting and grinding hard into Merlin’s arse, Papa began to grill him relentlessly.

“Who’s the master?” he snarled.

“You are!” Merlin gasped as tears ran down his face.

Fisting a handful of Merlin’s hair, he continued,“Who’s the dog?” 

Neck arching in submission, Merlin responded, “I am!”

Pulling out completely, Papa pushed back inside with a single cruel thrust, punching the air from Merlin’s lungs.

“Who commands?”

Though he was struggling hard to breathe, Merlin managed to rasp out the required response, “You!”

It went on and on, with Papa barking out questions like...“Who obeys?”

...and Merlin crying out the answers in a hoarsening voice. “Me!”

The ceaseless pumping of Papa’s hips...“Who am I?”

...and the endless pain consuming every fiber of Merlin’s being. “The master!”

The curl of Papa’s hard, callused hands around Merlin’s throat, “Who are you?”

...and Merlin’s increasing struggle to draw breath through a rapidly contracting airway. “I’m the dog!”

Papa squeezed harder, his voice a displeased snarl in Merlin’s ear, “ _Who_ are you?”

Vision dimming, gasps turning ineffectual, Merlin scrambled to correct his mistake before Papa killed him for it.

“The _bitch!_ I’m your bitch!”

Groaning his satisfaction, Papa slammed into Merlin one last time then stilled. A heated geyser fountained deep inside the core of Merlin’s body as Papa moaned and trembled above him. Fingers flexing in time with his spasms, he stayed that way for several endless seconds before finally relaxing his grip.

“That’s right, _Bitch_. Don’t you _ever_ forget it. You’re mine. You do what _I_ say. You don’t think, you don’t _ever_ try and think for yourself. You hear me? That’s why _I’m_ Papa. I do the thinking. You don’t question me; you don’t do anything that I don’t tell you to.”

Cowed, Merlin simply nodded his bent head as Papa pulled out of him, rose to his feet, and staggered to the bedding. Despite the aching in his guts, the burning in his arse, and the throbbing in his balls, Merlin uncurled from his crouched position and straightened his spine. Sweat beaded on every inch of his body and he trembled all over, but well did Merlin know his role. Papa expected a display of obedience and Merlin wasn’t capable of anything but compliance.

As he’d been trained, he faced his master, rose to his knees then sank back on his heels. He could feel Papa’s fluids seeping from his hole, running down to join the sticky blood on his thighs as he folded his arms behind his back, grasped his left wrist in his right hand, bowed his head, and waited.

“Get up here and clean me up. Then get your arse in the fucking bed. This night ain’t over yet, not by a long shot.”

Desperate to obey, Merlin shuffled to the pallet on his knees as fast as he could manage. His balls ached as they swung between his skinny thighs, but Merlin did his best to ignore them as he dropped his head between Papa’s legs and carried out his orders. However, he couldn’t help but flinch when Papa reached down and palmed his sac again, same as he had before he’d used Merlin’s hole.

“I really _ought_ to fucking neuter you, you little bastard.” Considering for a moment, Papa sighed as though longsuffering. “It’d be a shame, though…you really _do_ have a mighty pretty pair.”

****End Warning****

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Kicked awake with the rising sun, Merlin rose with his balls aching. He gathered his clothes and headed back to his cage where he curled up and napped until Pel came to fetch him later that morning. Standing beside his saddled horse, Merlin munched through the handful of nuts Garret had given him for breakfast. He hesitated for a moment before steeling himself to mount. Swinging his leg high and wide, he came down on the saddle gingerly, but he still winced as soon as his crotch settled against the hard leather.

Papa had continued to torment Merlin throughout the night, squeezing and slapping his sac at random moments, a nasty, satisfied grin curling his thin lips each time Merlin howled, whimpered, or cried. Now, Merlin could look forward to the excruciating discomfort of several hours of hard riding on a hard saddle. He glanced over to where Papa was already mounted, waiting impatiently for the rest of them to join him. Blue eyes met brown and Papa smirked, acknowledging and enjoying Merlin’s quiet distress.

Shifting to try to ease the pressure a bit, Merlin urged his horse forward and fell in next to Papa as they rode out of camp.

“You better not fuck it up again today, you little shit. You got that?”

Merlin said nothing, simply nodding to acknowledge his master.

“You get what’s at stake here? Once you’re in the pit, you have only one objective. Kill your opponent before he kills you. Got it?”

Again, Merlin silently nodded his understanding.

“Yeah, that’s something even a simple fuck like you can understand. Kill or be killed. Just get the job done right this time.”

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey. Papa called Pel and Garret forward, leaving Merlin to bring up the rear. The situation suited Merlin just fine. Aching all over, he reckoned he’d had more than enough of Papa’s attention.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

The sun was still high in the sky when they were admitted to Jarl’s stronghold by a silent, scar-faced man missing half an ear. At Papa’s insistence, Merlin was swathed entirely in a voluminous cloak, the hood pulled low, his bruised and battered face concealed by the shadowy folds of dark cloth. The pain that pulsed throughout his body with each step was a timely reminder of what happened when Papa was displeased. Merlin was determined that he would redeem himself that day. There would be no cause for Papa to be displeased again.

Leaving Pel and Garret to cool their heels above, Merlin and Kanen follow the half-eared man deep into the bowels of the old castle. Merlin was interested to note that while some of the outer walls might have appeared to be crumbling, the interior of the place was more than sound. Twice while traversing down a seemingly endless series of stairs and sloping tunnels, they were passed by a party of men bearing a stretcher containing the corpse of what could only be a dead sorcerer. Papa’s mouth tightened ever so slightly as they went by, but Merlin wasn’t particularly bothered by the sight of dead sparkers. He was confident he’d be adding to the pile that day, not joining it.

Trailing down a long, dark, low-ceilinged corridor behind their strangely silent guide, Merlin became aware of the low rumble of human voices ahead. As they approached the illuminated end of the tight tunnel, the rumbling sound grew, swelling into the dull roar of a crowd as the corridor opened out onto the upper level of a small, indoor arena.

Jarl stood inside, arms spread wide in enthusiastic greeting.

“Kanen! So happy you could join us!” He glanced at Merlin, still concealed in the cloak.

“I take it your man is ready to fight?”

“He’s ready all right. When do I get paid?”

“Ah, yes, payment is rendered _after_ you defeat our reigning champion.”

Jarl stepped back with a flourish and waved their attention down into the fighting pit below. There, a self-consciously majestic man in flowing crimson robes stood resplendent in the center of a scoured sand floor surrounded by rune-scribed walls scorched and streaked all over with black soot . Smoke trailed from long fingers tipped with pointed scarlet nails and small flames appeared to flicker among the voluminous folds of the sorcerer’s glittering costume. Even the man’s hair was an affectation of carefully pomaded points dyed an outrageous shade of vermillion.

Unmoved by the man’s outlandish appearance, Merlin kept his head down and waited while Papa stepped closer to the railing that edged the gallery where they stood.

“Champion, eh?”

A rather unpleasant grin stretched across Jarl’s face exposing an uneven row of dark yellow teeth and a wide expanse of pale pink gums.

“Indeed. Lasair Caithe has been the undefeated champion for the last fifteen rounds!”

Papa gave a noncommittal grunt, but allowed a tiny smirk to tug up the scarred side of his face as he turned to Merlin and swept the cloak from the warlock’s shoulders.

“He’s had a good run then. Time for something new,” Papa said, reaching for the catch on Merlin’s collar and thumbing it open. Hooking his finger under the edge of the leather, Papa swept the collar from Merlin’s neck and Merlin raised his eyes to meet Papa’s. The flat command in those pitiless, hazel eyes was so clear Merlin didn’t need to hear it spoken aloud. They both knew the words that followed were for the benefit of Kanen’s audience.

“Kill him.”

Pivoting on one worn heel, Merlin turned and made for the stairs that led from the gallery down into the pit below. At a signal from Jarl, the assembled spectators surged forward and thronged the gallery’s railing baying for blood. As he descended the stairs, Merlin kept his head low in a display of submission for his master.

It was soon clear that the audience found Merlin’s appearance lacking as jeering catcalls disparaging everything from his clothing to his ears rang down from above. He supposed if they were used to flamboyant displays like the sparker in front of him, then Merlin’s ragged grooming and humble, homespun clothes would indeed be something of a disappointment. No matter; Merlin wasn’t here for them.

Submissive posture still in place, Merlin trudged doggedly across the arena floor to where his smoking opponent stood, waving his arms and grandstanding for the crowd. Merlin flicked his eyes upward to where he knew Papa stood watching and jerked his head the tiniest bit to acknowledge his master.

“Blast ‘im to fucking bits, Merlin!” was all the encouragement he needed.

It wasn’t hard to deduce from his opponent’s appearance that the sparker considered himself a master of fire, but fire was _Merlin’s_ power first and foremost. In all his years of serving Kanen, he had never encountered _anyone_ who could best him for control of that contrary element. So when the sparker’s predictable opening move was to fling a lash of fire in his direction, Merlin didn’t hesitate to step forward _into_ the attack. 

Grasping the flame in his hand as easily as a fisherman handling a line, he coiled the cord of fire around his wrist and forearm and used the sparker’s own power to reel the startled man toward him. Realizing he was outmatched, the sorcerer tried to back away, but it was already too late. Quick as thought, Merlin absorbed the fire into his skin but he didn’t stop there. As soon as that was consumed, Merlin inhaled with intent and sucked out the fire that burned inside the sorcerer himself. When the man’s power was exhausted Merlin kept on pulling, drawing all the heat from the sparker’s body until there was nothing left before him but a cold, blue corpse tumbling stiffly to the sand at his feet.

The entire fight took about five seconds from start to finish. The crowd fell utterly silent as the former champion hit the ground, and Merlin was gratified to hear Papa’s triumphant roar.

“Atta boy!! That’s the way to do it!”

The collar curled around Merlin’s neck comfortingly, feeling like a familiar friend, and Papa’s thumb pressed the latch closed with a soothing snap. Standing still, Merlin let Papa throw the dark cloak around his shoulders once more, secure in the knowledge that he’d done well. Papa grinned and wrapped his arm around Merlin as he steered him through the mostly silent crowd heading for the exit.

Jarl hurried after them. “Kanen! _That_ was bloody brilliant!”

“That’s my little lapdog,” Papa crowed.

“That thing you do with his collar, how’d you ever make that work?”

With smug satisfaction saturating every word Papa replied, “Well, it’s like my old mum used to say, ‘Get ‘em young enough and there’s no limiting potential.”

“I believe it was the Druids who said that.”

“Yeah, well, _they_ probably got it off my old mum.” The smile fell from Kanen’s face as he looked Jarl in the eye. “If you want us back…you know how to get in touch, yeah?”

Jarl matched his steady gaze, and gestured toward one of his hovering lackeys. The stooped shouldered man shuffled forward with a weighty little leather sack he passed to Papa. 

“Don’t doubt it for a moment,” Jarl said. “We definitely want you back.”

Weighing the clinking bag in his hands, Papa nodded in satisfaction.

“Then I guess we’ll see you in a month.”

“I look forward to it. Though, Kanen...next time do your best to make it a bit more… _entertaining_ for my guests. They do pay for the show.”

Papa nodded and gave Merlin a gentle shove to get him walking.

“I’ll see what we can do.”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Sifting through his newly won bounty of gold, Papa chortled with unaccustomed mirth. The gnarled scars on his cheek bunched in response to the wide grin curling up the corners of his mouth. Pel and Garret were suitably impressed by the size of Papa’s winnings and Merlin was relieved that he’d _finally_ done something right.

Merlin didn’t much like fighting and he absolutely hated killing, but most of the time the violence seemed at least partially justified because it meant eliminating a threat to Papa, his gang or his livelihood. However, that man in the arena today had represented none of those dangers. He’d been a threat to no one, least of all Merlin; he simply hadn’t possessed that kind of power. 

However, for once Merlin really didn’t have it in him to regret the needless kill it if it meant that he was back in Papa’s good graces again. And judging by the affectionate squeeze of his shoulder Papa had treated him to before they mounted up, the sun in Papa’s sky was back to shining on Merlin.

They had one collection to make on the way back home, so they left Jarl’s crumbling stronghold behind and headed north along the border with Camelot. Papa’s manic grin gradually softened to a contented smile as he shared his thoughts with Pel and Garret while they rode.

“You remember a few days ago I was telling you about those dreams I had? You know the ones, they was all exotic girls and flowing drinks afore everything went bollox and got blown to hell?”

“Oh yeah, Boss! I remember!” Pel exclaimed, sycophantic as ever.

“Well…I was just thinking about them dreams and the more I think on it, the more I figure they was auguries.”

“Augu-what?” Pel was predictably confused.

“Auguries, you know like visions of the future or some such. I think the dreams were telling me that a change of fortunes was approaching, better days coming my way.”

“And lots of money!” Pel exclaimed. Garret rolled his eyes, but wisely remained silent and attentive as Papa continued on without acknowledging Pel’s contribution to the conversation.

“We’ve got a real opportunity with Jarl’s lot here. I mean, we’re looking at the kind of money we could only _dream_ of in the past. Forget dodgy loans to skint royalty, this is the kind of dosh that could set us up for life!”

Pel continued looking blank but Garret’s expression was thoughtful as he asked, “What ya got in mind, Boss?”

“Think about it, boys. Our Merlin here is practically unbeatable, especially one-on-one like they set these fights. We’ll be taking gold coin by the thousands each month. We won’t have to keep riding hither and yon shaking down tiny villages and collecting small time fees from merchants. We can finally settle in somewhere permanent, quit pulling up stakes and moving every coupla weeks.”

“That sounds nice, Boss.” Garret smiled.

“It means we can tighten up the organization, keep the best of the men and get rid of the chaff. It means we’ll get to keep more of the take for ourselves. We’ll live like kings!”

Papa threw back his head and laughed. “Fuck, we’ll live _better_ than kings, least better than King Cenred, eh?”

Pel and Garret joined in the laughter and the sounds of their merriment led Merlin to relax enough to let his eyes wander. They didn’t get to this part of Essetir very often, and he’d never seen some of the plants that grew in the area before now. Merlin was surprised and pleased when he recognized two of the herbs--sticklewort and comfrey--which the old healer back in Dunpelder had shown him. He was trying to recall what Jago had said each was used for when Papa broke into Merlin’s reverie by speaking his name.

“…you did good, boy. I think you deserve a treat. What ya want, eh? Something special.”

Merlin didn't even have to think about it. “A book.”

“A what? What did you say?” Papa asked, clearly dumbfounded by the request.

“I want a book,” Merlin repeated doggedly.

“A book? Why the hell would you want a book? You can’t even read! Come on Merlin, make sense. How ‘bout a nice haunch of veal? You’ve never had veal before. You’d love it.”

If this was to be _his_ choice of reward, there was only one thing Merlin wanted. “I want a book.”

“How about a whore? I _know_ you never had one of them! We’ll find you a nice, plump tart to cozy up to for the night. What ya say?”

“I want a _book_ ,” Merlin insisted stubbornly.

“Merlin, you’re working my last nerve here, damn it. I’m trying to do something nice for you and…”

“And I _want a book!_ ” 

Tensing all over, Merlin prepared himself for a blow, instead--against all expectation--Papa began to laugh.

“That’s you all over, innit you simple little bastard! Focus on one thing and one thing only!”

He leaned over to ruffle Merlin’s hair, his good mood restored in an instant.

“You know, this is why we work, you and I. We complement each other. I got the tactics and you got the spark. Together, we’re invincible!”

 

As Papa’s indulgent laugh rang out, Merlin relaxed. He’d known he was pushing by insisting on a book as reward, but Papa had asked what _Merlin_ wanted. And what Merlin wanted was a book like the ones the old healer in Dunpelder had shown him. Papa thought him mad to want such a thing, but Merlin didn’t think he could ever find the words to explain it to him. It was hard enough for Merlin to understand it, but…

A book...it was knowledge he could _touch_. It was leather-bound wisdom; he could hold it in his hands, stroke it with his fingers, and absorb it through his eyes. If he ever forgot, he could go back and learn it all over again, as many times as it took. Merlin _wanted_ that more than he’d ever wanted anything. Plants and herbs transformed into potions and poultices, the secret to curing illness and healing injury--the means to bring life rather than take it. All that, it was… _goodness_ made manifest. It was everything that Merlin was not…and everything that Merlin wished he could be.

He knew it was pure folly to even think that way…the idea of Merlin as a source of solace for anyone was downright laughable. He was an _animal_ , a ravening beast. It was his place to hurt, not to heal; he was meant to bring death not preserve life. Merlin knew that there was _nothing_ in the world that could ever change that, certainly not a book he couldn’t even read. He had no expectations that such a possession would alter who and what he was. Merlin just wanted to be able to hold a bit of something bright and beautiful in his hands, to know it was possible for _someone_ out there to be a force for good in this world.

Having just declared them invincible, Papa was still laughing when the world as Merlin knew it came to a screeching halt. Afterward, Merlin would never be sure of what happened in what order. Did his head hit the ground before the rest of him? Or did it simply bounce off the rocky turf _after_ his body slammed into it with enough force to drive the air from his lungs? All he knew for sure was that one second he was riding alongside Papa, with Garret and Pel just ahead (all of them still chuckling over Merlin’s ludicrous desire for a book) and the next they were all suddenly blown from their saddles by a massive, unseen force.

Stunned, unable to think or move-unable to even _breathe_ , Merlin lay where he’d fallen. He was dimly aware of a horse’s scream and the pounding thunder of hooves on hard ground. Out of the corner of one eye he could make out Papa stirring beside him, while Merlin could only struggle to try to get his lungs working again. Chest heaving, Merlin managed one short, shallow breath and then another before a warm weight pressed up against his side. Papa’s arm dragged across his chest, one trembling hand feebly scratching for the catch on Merlin’s collar. Fingernails scrabbled over leather and metal, but it was already too late.

There was a concussive blast and Papa fell, flattening Merlin beneath him. Half a heartbeat later Merlin felt a familiar crackle of energy raise the fine hairs all over his skin. Lightning. It sizzled through the air faster than Merlin could blink. Papa screamed and arched off him, spine bowing tight, as a second, weaker arc of energy jumped from his body to Merlin’s. A hot flash of blue-white light seared his eyes and Merlin seized, every muscle locking tight for an endless moment as Papa twitched and convulsed in the air above him. Agony sparked along every nerve ending, burning Merlin from the inside out before blessed darkness snuffed out all awareness.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Voices--a man’s and a woman’s--filtered through the fog hazing Merlin’s consciousness.

“Dearest Morgause, you never disappoint.”

 _He_ sounded vaguely familiar.

“Naturally, my liege. Did you ever think I would?”

 _She_ did not.

“Not even for a moment. Power and talent such as yours could only ever be eclipsed by your matchless beauty.”

His senses slowly returning, Merlin began to register the heavy weight of Papa’s body draped over his own. 

“Subtle, Cenred, so very subtle.”

He heard a throaty chuckle.

“When have I ever tried to claim such graces for my own? I’m a plain and simple man with no need for concealment of my…needs.”

The woman’s (Morgause?) voice was a throaty purr, but the warning in her tone was unmistakable.

“Take care not to confuse your wants with your needs, Cenred, nor my place in the fulfillment of either.”

The King remained unfazed.

“You wound me, dear lady. Do you think I would so misuse you?”

The stench of burnt flesh was filling Merlin’s nostrils.

“I think you would use me for whatever purpose moved you in the moment, however ill-advised. I answered your purpose today as much for my sake as for yours. The boy was as great a threat to me as he was to you.”

Light feet crunched closer to where Merlin lay, unmoving beneath the still weight of his master. He held his breath as she came to a halt beside them.

“Pity. So much potential wasted by a hamfisted thug like this.”

Papa’s body rocked above Merlin as Morgause nudged him with a negligent toe.

“If I’d had the boy’s training he could have been a valuable asset.”

“I told you, Morgause, he was nothing but a mindless beast. Blank-eyed and unreasoning, he would only ever obey Kanen. He would have been useless to you. It’s best he was put down with his master.”

Pain...his nerves were screaming...every bit of his body was an agonizing burn, but Merlin held stubbornly still, terror locking every muscle tight.

“Hmm..still…a pity.”

She sighed and turned away, the ground crunching lightly beneath her feet as she walked away. Merlin exhaled slowly, ribs aching, before quietly drawing another lungful of air. He heard them mount their horses and a few minutes later heard the clatter of hooves on stony ground as they slowly rode away.

Heart pounding, Merlin continued to keep still and wait. When several minutes passed in which he could hear nothing but the wind in the trees, he dared to open his eyes. The sun wallowed low on the horizon but there was yet enough light to see by. Moving cautiously, he turned his head side to side. Nothing. He squirmed out from under Papa’s body and sat up. Head spinning, he carefully surveyed the clearing where they’d been ambushed.

Eyes closed, Garret lay on his back in a patch of grass, while Pel sprawled out face-down a few feet beyond him. A small pool of blood dampened the earth beneath his cheek. They both lay silent and still. Clumsy with pain, Merlin pulled his feet beneath him and rose. Though he remained warm and pliant, Papa hadn’t so much as twitched the entire time Merlin lay beneath him.

The leaves in the trees at the edge of the clearing rustled in a light breeze, and the sun continued to sink toward the horizon as Merlin stood there trembling with fear and indecision. An ant crawled over the toe of one boot, but Papa, Pel, and Garret stayed still.

Dead.

They were dead… _Papa_ was dead. He was dead and Merlin was alone.

The breeze died and the world stilled. No sound, there was no sound anywhere. Dead. The whole world was dead and Merlin left alone in it. _All alone._

His cry was pitiful.

“Nooo!!”

Something broke inside of Merlin, and he bolted.

Merlin flew through the forest, heedless of direction. Awareness narrowed by sheer panic, his whole world became nothing but forward momentum and the pounding slap of boot-sole on soil. Branches whipped his face and tore at his clothes. Stones turned beneath his feet as he staggered up slopes and down hills. Losing his footing more than once, Merlin crashed to the ground again and again. Each time he pitched back to his feet and ran on, and though his hands and knees were soon a mass of bleeding abrasions, he never even registered the pain.

 _Alone…he was all alone…Papa was dead…who would take care of Merlin now? Who would keep him in line? Papa was the one who contained the beast…the one who knew how to let it out in controlled bursts so it didn’t consume Merlin…Papa was the only one who knew what to do…Merlin didn’t know…when to let the beast rage…didn’t know when it was safe to let it out of its cage…only Papa…but Papa was gone…Merlin was alone…no family now…no home…nothing…Merlin had nothing without Papa…_ was _nothing without Papa…_

Time quickly lost meaning, contracting and expanding as he ran. Consumed by the litany of fear bombarding his mind, he was only vaguely aware of the way the light around him had dimmed, exchanging gold for silver and blue sky for black. The forest grew denser, the underbrush thickening between the closely crowded trees. Merlin barely slowed, crashing through thicket after thicket, his noisy passage setting birds and small animals to flight in every direction.

Eventually, the dim light of moon and stars began to brighten with the coming dawn, and the trees began to thin out again. Nearing exhaustion both mental and physical, Merlin’s feet finally began to falter when the trees fell away unexpectedly, and he burst into a clearing filled with men in bright red cloaks. Armed men… _alert_ armed men.

Holding his hands up and out to show his empty palms, Merlin staggered into their midst. Whatever force had sustained him through the night ran out all at once and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Crashing to the ground a final time, Merlin couldn’t find the will to move. He was totally spent; there was nothing left. If this band of armed men were to move against him, so be it. He didn’t even have the energy to care anymore. 

Drifting at the edge of consciousness, Merlin was remotely aware of the gentle hands that lifted him from the ground and cradled him in warm arms and a brusque yet kindly voice asking...asking _something_. 

He _liked_ the voice, it was a good voice. Merlin knew he should answer the voice but instead he found himself turning slightly to snuggle deeper into the embrace of the warm arms. Warm…he liked the warm even more than the voice. He’d just enjoy a bit more of the warm before he answered the voice…just a few moments…ah but the dark was nice too, maybe he’d just stay there awhile. 

The voice could wait.


	5. Chapter 4

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As dawn began to lighten the sky overhead, Arthur, Prince and sole heir of the Kingdom of Camelot, began to stir from his bed on the hard forest floor. He was dimly aware of low voices softly conversing back and forth across the crackling fire that continued to warm his bedroll. Jaw cracking from a deep yawn, Arthur reluctantly forced himself to face the day. Morning was never his best time, but several years of military training and a lifetime of chiding discipline from his mentor, Gaius, had conditioned the prince to act through the dragging fog of the stubborn half-sleep that doggedly clung to his early awakening.

Naturally, one of the voices across the fire belonged to Gaius, the Court Physician of Camelot, who, despite advancing age, never let the sun beat him to rising. Affection warmed Arthur’s heart at the familiar deep, gravelly tones of the old man’s voice. That same voice had gentled childhood fears, soothed anxious tears, and had comforted Arthur through every injury in his life, no matter how great or small. Once, that voice had even coaxed him to wake from the dark delirium of a dread fever that had come close to stealing his life. Arthur couldn’t remember a time that Gaius hadn’t been there; indeed, he knew there never had been such a time, for Gaius had looked after Arthur since he’d been a nurseling.

Arthur had never known his mother, as it was his birth that had robbed her of life. His father  
Uther, King of Camelot, was devoted to the running of his kingdom and the care of his people. There was precious little of his time or attention left over for a child. As a consequence, Arthur had been shuffled from nursemaid to nanny to tutor to trainer without much input from his surviving parent. Instead, he’d spent most of his free time as a child hanging off the robes of Uther’s court physician. The old man had always had a soft spot for the orphaned prince and seemed content to have the child underfoot as he went about his business of caring for the physical health and mental well-being of the denizens of Uther’s capital city.

The king himself hadn’t taken much notice, and left to his own devices, Arthur had understandably developed a deep interest in science and the healing arts. His agile mind was twinned by a talent for physical pursuits, and the young prince had also excelled at martial training from a very young age. Since Arthur _was_ so accomplished in the kingly arts of war, his father saw no harm in allowing him to also pursue what he might otherwise have deemed an unseemly interest in scholarly pursuits. 

Thanks to Gaius, by the time he was sixteen, Arthur had as much skill in healing hurts as he did in dealing them. And while the prince might openly regard Gaius only as mentor and friend, he privately acknowledged that the physician was more of a father to him than the man who’d been biologically responsible for his creation. 

Allowing himself a few more minutes to enjoy both the physical warmth of the fire and the psychological warmth of his company, Arthur lay quietly in his bedroll. Eventually though, the nagging voice of his conscience (a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gaius) urged him to rise and face the day. Obeying that urge, Arthur forced himself upright, shivering a bit in the cool morning air. The quiet conversation he’d been aware of, but not really listening to, ceased for a moment. Looking across the fire at his mentor, Arthur managed a lopsided smile of greeting and received one high-arched brow in exchange.

“Good morning, Sire. I have to admit I’m pleasantly surprised we’ve not had to drag you from your bed today.”

Lips pursing, Arthur scowled at the old man and _that_ was what earned him a chuckle and an answering smile. Opening his mouth to deliver a pithy retort to Gaius’ teasing, the words froze in Arthur’s throat when he heard a crashing in the underbrush of the surrounding forest. Judging by the rapidly increasing noise, it was clear that whatever was approaching, was large and moving toward them at a furious pace.

Training took over and had Arthur on his feet with sword in hand before he was even aware of moving. He wasn’t alone. Pendragon-red cloaks rose all around him as his father’s knights turned to face the approaching danger. Metal sang as swords were unsheathed, and leaves rustled under shuffling feet as men readied themselves for action. Cursing his decision to _not_ sleep in his armour the night before, Arthur carefully placed himself between Gaius and whatever was coming for them.

The commotion plowing through the thicket grew louder and louder until finally, a tall, spindly figure broke through the edge of the tree line. The man…for surely it _was_ a man…drew up short for a split second, halting his headlong flight long enough to fling his hands up in a show of submission before momentum carried him forward into their camp. Lurching on unsteady feet, he teetered almost as far as the fire before collapsing in a heap a few feet from where Arthur stood staring in stupefaction.

Silence reigned for a long moment as everyone froze and stared at the quivering pile of rags in consternation. Was it…dangerous? Eventually, their thrall was broken as Gaius bustled forward, reaching for the man with his usual unfaltering compassion. Once the soldiers could see for themselves that their “intruder” was harmless, they went back to their previous activities.

As soon as Gaius began to move, Arthur automatically leapt in to help. Dropping to his knees beside the prone figure on the ground, Arthur waited for a nod from Gaius before turning the man over with gentle hands.

A heavy head fell back to expose a long, thin neck bisected by a wide leather collar inlaid with rectangular iron plaques. Each plaque was inscribed with some sort of rune, utterly indecipherable to Arthur’s eyes. Intriguingly, he noted that the collar was _clasped_ shut, not locked in place. For a moment, he wondered what would cause a man to wear such a thing willingly. Then, as the man turned his head, Arthur glanced up at his face...and ceased thinking altogether.

As he watched, long black lashes fluttered then lifted for just a moment to reveal a huge pair of eyes as deep a blue as the open ocean. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, and he found himself staring helplessly, unable to tear his own eyes away. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. An eternity seemed to come and go in a heartbeat before soft, full lips parted around a faint groan and finally those too-blue eyes fluttered shut, freeing Arthur from their mysterious hold on his senses.

Shaking his head slightly, Arthur became aware that at some point, he’d apparently gathered the man up from the ground and was now cradling him to his chest like a damsel in distress. Flushing slightly, he looked over at Gaius, but the physician was paying him no mind. Focusing entirely on the stranger, Gaius plied his patient with questions that went unanswered as the man only whimpered quietly in response to the physician’s poking and prodding.

The man shifted restlessly in his arms and Arthur took a moment to examine the rest of the compelling stranger’s lacerated face. 

Peering closely in the dim light, Arthur could just make out a mismatched assortment of features warring for balance beneath a thick layer of blood and grime. Overly prominent cheekbones jutted out over a long, narrow jaw which in turn was anchored by a stubbornly rounded chin. The ridgeline of a longish nose ran a straight, narrow course down the center of the man’s face before terminating in an ample pair of nostrils that by all rights _should_ have thrown the whole protuberance out of balance but strangely…did not. Then beneath that--as if just to mock the laws of nature--nestled a wildly sensuous mouth formed by two lush, pillowy lips startlingly out of place amongst all the pointed promontories and deep hollows that formed the surrounding landscape of flesh and bone.

Struggling to make sense of the face before him, it suddenly struck Arthur just how _young_ that face was. _Gods, he’s just a kid!_ Arthur realized with amazement. The boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen at the most. He was also painfully thin, with bones so close to the surface that it felt to Arthur as if he was holding little more than a skeleton wrapped in nothing but thin, ragged cloth. An unexpectedly fierce and overwhelming protective instinct came over Arthur. His stomach clenched, and his arms tightened around the frail form they held. 

Somehow, it felt like a reward when the nameless boy turned his face into Arthur’s chest with a soft sigh and snuggled even closer.

Gaius’ eyebrow soared.

“Well, he certainly seems to have taken a liking to Your Highness.”

Arthur could feel himself blushing, but lifted his chin regardless.

“Indeed. And who wouldn’t?”

A knowing smile tugged up one corner of the old man’s mouth. He directed a meaningful look to where Arthur’s arms were clenched so fiercely around the strange boy. 

“It would seem you share the boy’s regard.”

Feeling his flush deepen, Arthur couldn’t help but follow his mentor’s pointed gaze. His eyes caught on the heavy collar circling the young man’s throat. Looking closely now, he could see that the fair skin above and below the black leather was scarred a shiny white. Lip curling, Arthur made a disgusted sound and reached for the clasp of the abhorrent thing, intent on freeing the boy from such a repugnant symbol of bondage.

“No, don’t!”

He looked up at Gaius in surprise.

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen such collars before, Arthur. You very well may do more harm than good by removing it at this stage.”

“How do you mean?”

Gaius reached over and ran his fingers over several of the runes on the collar, as if reading them by touch. His fingers trailed lightly over the collar’s clasp but instead of lifting the latch, he gave it a small, downward pat as if to be sure it remained secure.

“Well, as you can see the collar isn’t locked in place.”

Arthur nodded, acknowledging the obvious.

“It suggests that the boy’s master had no _need_ to lock it in place. The boy is wearing it willingly.”

“But…isn’t he a slave?”

“Yes, I should think so.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand, Gaius. If he’s a slave, wouldn’t he _want_ to be rid of the collar? Isn’t it just a sign of his captivity?”

A thoughtful look settled over the older man’s face as Gaius seemed to search for the right words to explain.

“Well, it’s not always so simple, Arthur. Like I said…I’ve seen such things before, and the people who wear this type of collar have been…well…you might say they’ve been… _conditioned_ to wear them, often violently and usually from a very young age. It’s likely this boy was enslaved as a small child…it’s even possible he was _born_ a slave.”

Bile rose in Arthur’s throat at the thought of someone torturing a child into willingly wearing what was essentially a dog’s collar. Feeling his fingers itch and twitch toward the clasp, he burned with the need to see the boy rid of the vile thing.

“Arthur…believe me, I understand how you feel and I agree with the sentiment, but…it’s not really what’s best for the boy right now. If he wakes up without that collar on, the result could be very traumatic. If he wants to take it off, he can do so, but it needs to be _his_ choice.”

Arthur let his fingers fall away with a deep, frustrated sigh.

“Trust me, my boy. It’s for the best.”

“I trust you, Gaius. Always have, always will.”

“Good. Now, if you’d be so kind as to bring the boy closer to the fire. We really need to give him a thorough washing and then dress his wounds.”

When his mentor said “we” he knew that what Gaius really meant was that _Arthur_ needed to see to bathing the boy. Not that Arthur minded in the least. His mentor tired easily these days and Arthur was more than happy to help, especially in light of the fact that Gaius himself had only recently recovered from a long, wearing illness. 

Easily lifting his slight patient, Arthur lay the boy down on the blankets Gaius had spread out beside the camp’s fire. A bucket of water was already warming over the flames so Arthur set about stripping the filthy rags from his charge. He tried not to stare but he was simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by what he found beneath the boy’s ragged clothing. 

Everywhere he looked he found cuts, burns and bruises in various stages of healing. Obvious fingermarks and hand-prints wrapped around stick-like arms and prominent ribs. There were strange elliptical-shaped marks (bites?) up and down the boy’s long neck, and even more of them scattered along his collarbones and over his chest. Multiple contusions stood out purple-black and ugly, drawing Arthur’s attention to the youth’s milky, fine-grained skin...skin so silky smooth and soft it made Arthur’s fingers positively _itch_ to stroke and explore.

Castigating himself for entertaining such lewd thoughts about such a young, _defenseless_ boy, Arthur got on with the task of bathing his patient. Soaking up warm water with a clean rag, he began with the boy’s bruised face and steadily worked his way down until all the skin above the ragged waistline of his breeches was clean. Arthur’s heart ached at the way the boy’s bones stuck out. From knobby shoulders and sharp shoulder-blades to stark sternum, sunken ribs and a spine so clearly visible that Gaius could have used the boy in place of the skeleton he kept in his room for studying anatomy, there was almost no flesh beneath the boy’s skin. And yet, there was a beauty and symmetry to his form even in such an advanced state of malnutrition. 

He was elegantly proportioned, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, long limbs and beautiful hands. For a moment, Arthur wondered about those hands. They were strangely soft for the hands of a slave, especially one so obviously ill-used. Eyes wandering again, Arthur speculated about what the boy would look like with a bit of flesh over those curiously lovely bones…

Then Arthur eased the tattered trousers off and gaped, horrified at what he found beneath. _More_ hand-shaped bruises, each finger having left a clear impression, their configuration on the boy’s hips leaving no question as to what position they’d held him in. What looked like _dozens_ of bite marks, clearly human, marred the ivory curve of the boy’s backside, and trailed down over both thighs. Some of the bites had merely left bruises, while others were crusted with blood where teeth had broken through the skin. Thin scratches repeated in parallel rows of four curved over hips and buttocks, bisecting the bites in many places. Rusty-brown rivulets of dried blood streaked down the backs of his thighs, with even more blood between his legs.

Appalled and alarmed, Arthur called out, “Gaius!? P-please…I need you.”

A few moments later, Gaius joined him and frowned down at the newly discovered injuries.

“The poor boy…the poor, poor boy.” He knelt down beside them. “Here, Arthur, on his front. It’s…I need to examine him more closely. “

After gently laying their patient on his stomach, Arthur watched Gaius work and felt a disgusted rage rising inside. _Whomever_ had used the boy had inflicted a terrible amount of damage. His genitals were swollen and streaked with blood and the entrance to his body was puffy, torn and discoloured. Arthur fought to control the nausea rising in his throat when Gaius moved on to an internal exam and gently began to probe _inside_ the boy, his features tellingly pinched.

A deep and sorrowful sigh escaped past old, withered lips.

“He’s as torn up inside as he is out. It will take weeks for this much damage to heal. And that’s just the physical…”

Sadly having seen the victims of rape before, Arthur understood what Gaius had left unsaid. The damage to the victim’s mind was often worse than the damage to their bodies and recovery could take an exponentially longer time…if recovery took place at all. Some victims never regained a semblance of the life they’d led before, forever haunted by the violation of mind and body. Arthur found himself aching for the strangely beautiful boy. Blinking back unmanly tears, Arthur made a silent vow to do everything in his power to help ease the battered young man back to sound health, both physical and mental.

“…Arthur? Arthur? Arthur, are you listening?”

“Sorry Gaius.” Arthur swallowed and focused on his mentor once more. “I’m listening.”

“Would you please see to bathing the rest of him? I have some preparations to make for his treatment.”

“Of course; anything you need, Gaius.”

 

Carefully, Arthur finished bathing his patient. His stomach heaved as he washed away the blood and remnants of other… _fluids_ from the boy’s most intimate flesh. Unwilling to redress his clean patient in filthy clothes, Arthur threw the soiled rags on the fire and fetched a tunic and trousers from his own pack. When he returned, Gaius was already busy smearing a healing salve over the many scrapes and scratches, abrasions and avulsions that covered the thin boy’s skin.

“Arthur, I don’t have the means to treat the deeper…ah… _intimate_ injuries at the moment. We’ll need to get him back to Camelot as soon as possible.”

Nodding shortly, Arthur turned his attention to the multitude of uniformed men that now surrounded them. Most of them were smart enough to at least _appear_ to be busy attending to camp business, but there were a few who remained conspicuously idle. Mouth thinning in annoyance, Arthur searched out Sir Leon (one of the intelligently occupied) and began issuing orders for breaking camp.

“Gaius needs to return, so the bulk of us will be heading back to Camelot without delay.”

“Sire, I don’t mean to question your orders but…is that really the wisest course of action? I doubt the king will be pleased to hear you cut a patrol short to tend to the injuries of an escaped _slave_.”

Arthur knew Leon was right, his father would be livid when he learned the reason for Arthur’s early return. After all, Uther had only recently begun to allow Arthur to ride these administrative circuits without his direct supervision. It was likely he’d see Arthur’s actions as evidence the young prince _still_ wasn’t ready for a position of leadership, despite the fact that Arthur was already _eighteen_ years old. Still…he looked back at the terribly injured boy by the fire. He was strangely reluctant to let the lad out of his sight. There was just _something_ about him…

“There are only two villages left on our circuit, Sir Leon. I’ve no doubt _you_ are more than capable of seeing to their modest needs. Take five of the men with you, the rest will accompany Gaius and I back to Camelot.”

No one else questioned Arthur’s decision, they simply nodded their heads and followed orders. In less than two hours the camp was packed up and the men were ready to depart. The injured boy was carefully lashed, face down, to the back of a pack horse, and the reins attached to Gaius’ saddle. The group split in two, Sir Leon leading his men north and east along the border of Essetir, Arthur leading his contingent south and west back to the capital city of Camelot.

They arrived just before sunset, and feeling strangely reluctant to allow anyone else’s hands on his patient, Arthur made a point of carrying the nameless boy to Gaius’ chambers himself. Laying him on the bed in Gaius’ back room, he lingered to watch over the boy for several minutes before Gaius shooed him off to make his report to the king.

“Go on, you know he hates to be kept waiting. It’s likely he’s already irritated with you for cutting short your patrol. Don’t go adding to his annoyance by being tardy.”

Hesitating, Arthur looked from Gaius back to the unmoving, unconscious boy.

“Shouldn’t he be awake by now? What if something’s wrong with his head?”

“He’ll be fine, my boy. I promise. I examined his head and I’m confident there’s nothing broken there. Now go. The quicker you see to your father, the quicker you can come back here and make yourself a nuisance to me.”

His warm smile belied his complaint and Arthur departed to report his discovery of an escaped slave close to the border with Essetir. Uther was mightily distracted by the confirmation of rumours about slavers operating close to Camelot’s border. In fact, he was so distracted that he failed to chastise Arthur for abandoning his circuit.

As soon as he was dismissed, Arthur hastened back to Gaius’ rooms, concern for the beautiful, brutalized boy consuming his thoughts.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

_Screaming…there’s nothing but screaming and shouting outside his dark hiding place. The floor isn’t smooth under the bed and it scrapes at his belly as he squirms restlessly waiting for Mama to return. He’s scared; so, so scared, but Mama told him to stay here, stay until she came back to get him. He wishes she had stayed, too, but after snatching him, half asleep and only half-clad from his blankets and shoving him under the bed, she’d rushed out the door and into the commotion Merlin could hear rising outside the thin walls of their home._

_For long, terror filled minutes, it was hard to make anything out from the screams but he can recognize some of the voices and knows that they belong to his neighbors, his friends. Then, an all-too familiar voice cries out as if in pain, and another voice--a man’s this time--cries out, “Hunith!”_

_That’s his mother! His mother is crying, is she hurt?_

_Heedless of his mother’s orders to stay, Merlin wriggles out from under the bed and runs for the door as fast as his little legs can carry him. Outside, the air is filled with so much dust that he’s choking, his mouth tasting of mud. He can see his Mama; she’s down on the ground and two strange men are standing over her. One of the men is clutching a bloodied knife while the other has a sword raised in one grubby fist. Mama’s arm is raised over her head and the sword is coming down, whistling through the air in a deadly gray arc._

_Merlin screams, “No!” and his vision grows hot as both men go flying through the air. He runs for Mama but before he reaches her, there’s a thud to the back of his head and for just a moment his world explodes with pain--_

Jerking awake with a cry, Merlin was scrambling back before he even knew where he was. He knocked his head against something hard and his skull erupted with blinding pain. Vision swimming, he fought the darkness that rose to claim him...and this time he won. Heart pounding, stomach churning, and with aching in his every muscle, Merlin desperately tried to orient himself, but there was nothing familiar to anchor himself _to_. Even a quick glance at his own body couldn’t reassure him as he realized that the very _clothes_ he was wearing weren’t even his own.

Thinly plastered stone walls surrounded him and for a moment he thought he must be imprisoned in some dungeon but no, there was a window in one wall and a door in another. A sturdy table was pushed against the wall beneath the window and there were crates and boxes piled up to either side of that. A large chest of some kind (a wardrobe?) stood beside the door and there were even more boxes piled up beside it. Bundles of drying herbs hung in thick clusters from the rafters and there were a few enormous clay jars scattered around the room.

A glance behind him revealed small table beside the bed he was perched on (a bed, he’d never slept in a bed before!) and Merlin finally saw something there he recognized--his boots. He reached for them but froze when he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. Someone was coming for him! The door began to swing inward and the sight of movement jarred Merlin into action. Diving to the side, he hit the floor with a jolt and rolled under the bed.

His head began to swim again, and stinging scabs pulled at his skin in dozens of places but worst of all was a deep pain, burning low in his chest, tearing at him with every breath he took. He wanted to stay quiet but couldn’t help gasping and panting. It was impossible to regulate his breathing around that pain. He struggled to focus. The threat, there was a threat--close, so very close to him. He had to focus on the threat.

Just beyond the bed, he could see the hem of a long robe and slippered feet below. _Who was it? What did they want? Were they here to hurt him?_ There was a voice speaking, and Merlin strained to make out the words being spoken over the pounding in his chest, and the rushing in his ears.

“…all right. You don’t have to come out. I just thought you might be hungry. I’ll just leave this and you can eat it when you’re ready.”

There was a moment of still silence and then a tray of food appeared next to the feet, clutched in two weathered, wrinkled looking hands. The hands withdrew but the tray remained. There was a little grunt as the hands disappeared, and then the voice continued.

“My name is Gaius, by the way. I’m a physician. You’re in Camelot, and these are my chambers.”

The feet shuffled around, the ankles easing while the bed above Merlin’s head sagged and creaked as a weight settled on it.

“I doubt you’ll remember, but I was there in the woods when you collapsed. You gave us all quite a fright, my boy, making so much noise we were sure some ravening beast was coming for us! Then, you just passed out on us and wouldn’t wake. That was two days ago, in case you were wondering.”

The unmistakable scent of fresh-baked bread teased at Merlin’s nostrils and his mouth began to water. A bowl of stew gently steamed in the air beside the bread and Merlin’s stomach tightened with hunger. His last meal had been a sketchy breakfast before setting out for Jarl’s stronghold…was that really only three days ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.

“We cleaned you up and treated your wounds, but some of them are quite serious. There’s a deep burn just below your ribs; it’s left you with quite a sizable wound. I expect that’s why you are having such difficulty breathing at the moment. You also took a rather severe blow to the head and though I can’t find any significant damage to the skull, I imagine it _must_ be paining you as well.”

Rustling movement and the tinking sound of glass on glass sounded above. The bed creaked some more, the mattress emitting small puffs of dust.

“There’s a tonic here for the pain and another to help ward off infection. It’s best to take them after you’ve eaten something. Drain them both for the full effect. I’ll need to check your bandages later; at the very least that chest wound of yours will need redressing. I won’t force you, but I hope you’ll let me help.”

Knobby ankles settled with weight and the feet began to move away, back toward the door. Merlin’s anxiety finally began to settle.

“You can rest easy, my boy. I won’t ask any questions you don’t want to answer. Just know you won’t come to any harm with me. You’re safe here.”

The door swung open and unable to resist any longer, Merlin reached for the tray, dragging it under the bed with him. He was already tearing into the bread when a chuckle sounded and the feet shuffled away, the door closing softly behind them.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Eyes wide, Merlin stared around him in amazement. Everywhere he looked in the physician’s chambers there was some new wonder to behold. Benches and tables, cabinets and curios lined the walls, and individual work-stations slithered through the room in a haphazard line. Every flat surface was covered in a fascinating assortment of herbs and oddities that Merlin couldn’t even begin to fathom a use for. Take the intricate iron mask propped beside a shallow dish filled with tiny mounds of half-ground, brilliant yellow seed pods. What possible use could a healer have for a rabbit-shaped mask? Beside the dish was a divided wooden box, its cubbies filled with powders and pigments in bright, blinding colours that Merlin was fairly sure had never existed in nature.

Cylindrical containers filled with dried grasses and cut flowers huddled beside pots overflowing with live plants. There were glass bottles _everywhere_. Some were empty, some full and some were obviously in the process of being filled. They displayed powders and liquids of every consistency and colour that Merlin could imagine…and several he could not. Crammed in among the glassware were jugs and jars of stone and clay--many stoppered and sealed with wax. There were bowls of wood and metal, clay cups without handles and a variety of wide mouthed vessels he couldn’t put a name to, all containing a dizzying array of dried flowers and herbs, powders and pastes, small pebbles and even what looked like a collection of metal filings.

Stunned by his surroundings, Merlin couldn’t stop staring at… _everything_. To a boy who’d never spent much time indoors, the very structure of the chamber itself was of interest. The stone walls were covered in the same thin plaster as the room Merlin had slept in, but it was cracked and peeling in some places, and in one spot, a huge patch had come loose, exposing the uneven gray blocks beneath. The walls curved to form a semi-circle on one side of the room. The ceiling there was high, at least two stories, and a staircase curved alongside the wall leading up to a railed gallery filled with shelves and shelves of _even more_ books. The room’s largest window nestled beneath the stairs, made up of eight panes of fine, clear glass; most of the living plants were clustered around it.

The curved section of the room ended abruptly just beyond the gallery of books. A massive stone crossbeam bisected the chamber. It ran into the outside wall on one end, and was supported on the other by a sturdy round column of sand-coloured stone. The walls beyond the pillar ran straight and met in sharp corners. Wide alcoves with curving top edges were sunk into the walls, another small window breaking one of the alcoves into uneven sections.

Rough wood planking filled wide arches on either side of main chamber, with a crude door hung in the middle of each. One door perched at the top of a short flight of stairs and led to the room where Merlin had slept. The other led to…he had yet to gather his courage to discover.

Venturing out among the splendor, Merlin had just timidly begun to explore the deserted room when said undiscovered door crashed open and a tall, broad, blond man rushed through it. He drew up short upon seeing Merlin, eyes widening in astonishment. Caught in the bright blue of that stare, Merlin ceased breathing for a moment. Then the stranger stepped forward, raising one open hand toward Merlin.

“Hello, I’m-”

All of Merlin’s courage vanished in an instant. He turned and bolted back to the smaller room, once again diving for his safe place under the bed. As Merlin lay still and trembling, the blond man followed. Boots appeared beside the bed, then knees...and finally a _face_.

Merlin closed his eyes, mashed his face against the floor and curled his fingers over his eyes in a futile attempt to hide. A moment later, he chanced a glimpse at the man but was far too frightened to hold his gaze. _What did he want? Why was he there? Did he want to hurt Merlin? Would he drag Merlin out from his hiding place? Was he there to throw Merlin in the dungeon he’d thought he was in when he first woke up?_ Merlin turned his head away, only to turn right back again when the man spoke to him, his deep voice soft and low.

“Hey! It’s all right; I’m not going to hurt you. We met the other day. I helped Gaius take care of you. I’m Arthur, Arthur Pendragon.”

Unable to speak, Merlin just whimpered low in his throat. The man’s-- _Arthur’s_ \--eyes seemed to soften in response. He continued to speak but he didn’t make any attempt to reach for Merlin.

“You don’t have to come out if you don’t want. Gaius just asked me to check up on you, to see if you needed anything. Are you all right? Are you hungry? Need something for pain?”

Merlin shook his head in negation then hid his face in his hands again.

“Are you bored? Want a book to read?”

Astonished by the offer, Merlin dropped his hands and stared.

“Yeah? What do you like to read?”

Still too scared to speak, Merlin couldn’t tell Arthur that he had no clue _how_ to read, let alone _what_ to read. However, Arthur seemed undeterred by Merlin’s silence.

“All right, how about I pick something for you?”

Merlin’s almost imperceptible nod seemed to be enough because Arthur--face, knees and feet--disappeared for several minutes and when his feet returned, his hands also appeared and shoved a small, beautifully bound book under the bed.

“There. I hope you like flowers, ‘cause this one’s mostly about how to harvest flowering herbs.”

Moments later, he left again but Merlin could hear still hear him in the next room. Taking a deep breath, Merlin pulled the book toward him and gently fingered the cover as he listened to Arthur bustling about the main chamber. He tensed when he heard Arthur’s feet approaching again.

“I’m going to leave you something for pain. I helped dress your wounds and I know you _have_ to be hurting. It’s here on the table whenever you want it. Gaius said it’s just one dose, so you should drink the whole thing, all right?”

Arthur didn’t seem to expect a response and Merlin didn’t give him one. He simply hugged the book close to his chest as he watched Arthur’s boots walk away. When the outer door opened and closed again, he let several minutes pass in silence before he felt brave enough to venture out from his hiding place, his fingers curled tightly around his prize.

The room’s only window was open wide and bright with late-morning sun. Merlin perched himself on the table below and carefully loosened the buckle holding the book closed. Pausing to stroke the smooth, embossed leather, he reverently savoured the moment. When he finally lifted the cover, he couldn’t contain a gasp of pleasure as brightly illuminated pages met his wondering eyes.

 _I hope you like flowers…_ Arthur had said. Merlin did...actually he _loved_ flowers, but in that moment he had to admit, he loved _books_ about flowers even more than the real thing. Every illustration was more beautiful than the one before it. Accompanying each picture were pages of flowing script, words he couldn’t understand but written in shapes he could certainly appreciate.

The sun soared past its zenith and sank low in the sky but, enchanted as he was, Merlin never even noticed.

[ ](http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/244/f/3/f3e7192b1014aad730de18f4c2855ccf-d6ko05j.jpg)

 

Sunset saw Gaius returned to his chambers and Merlin returned to his safe place under the bed. He took the book with him. He couldn’t really see it very well, even after Gaius came with a candle which he left on the floor beside the bed, but it made Merlin feel better just to _hold_ it in his hands.

“A little light for you, my boy. Just _please_ whatever you do, don’t try to drag _that_ under the bed with you!”

That stung a bit. Merlin knew he wasn’t very bright, but he wasn’t _that_ stupid.

“Feel like coming out for dinner?”

Anxiety spiking, Merlin clutched the book closer and didn’t answer. The old man let out a long sigh and retreated once again. A few minutes later, a tray of food appeared on the floor beside the candle and the physician’s weight settled on the bed. There were curious clinking and rattling sounds from above but it took Merlin several minutes to work out what the old man was doing up there.

“You may not want company, but I admit I prefer not to eat alone; and since Arthur’s been called to dine with his father tonight, you’ll just have to put up with me. Let me tell you about my day.”

Then, between bites of his own dinner, Gaius proceeded to do just that, describing for Merlin a day in the life of a physician. Torn between fear and fascination, Merlin stayed very still under the bed. He didn’t dare expose himself by reaching for the nearby tray, no matter how tempting it looked (Was that _beef_ he saw on the plate? He’d never actually tasted beef before, though he’d seen Papa and his men greedily devour the stuff.). Instead, he cuddled his book and ignored the insistent rumbling of his stomach as the old man droned on. As he listened, Merlin was shocked to realize that Gaius wasn’t just any physician, but was, in fact, no less than the _Court Physician of Camelot_. Even more shocking was the discovery that the room Merlin was currently lodged in was actually part of the king’s own castle.

What had he gotten himself into?

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Ducking his head into the back room, Gaius sighed at the sight of the empty bed, still made up from the day before. Clearly his frightened new charge had spent the entire night _under_ rather than _in_ the bed. At least the food was gone from the tray.

Gaius had dealt with fearful patients before, but he’d never witnessed such _sustained terror_. He’d even treated a number of other runaway slaves over the years, and while they often remained guarded and skittish, none of them had displayed the intense level of fear that this boy-- _Merlin_ , if the name on his collar was to be believed--did.

As he bustled around getting breakfast for himself and readying a tray for his guest, Gaius pondered the enigma that Merlin presented.

Given where he was found, it had been a reasonable assumption that Merlin was an escaped slave. Everyone knew that while Essetir maintained an official ban on slavery, it was a very poorly maintained ban. King Cenred seemed to cultivate a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy with regard to human trafficking in his realm. There weren’t any open markets where slaves were bought and sold, but it also wasn’t particularly difficult to ascertain where the underground trading took place. Procurement was fairly easy but mostly limited to the wealthy, as slaves didn’t come cheap. Owners were usually discreet about displaying their slaves in public, but it was common knowledge that every great house had at least a few. They were considered quite a status symbol.

A boy like Merlin…well, Gaius could see why a boy like that would be quite a find for the right owner. Just the thought made his stomach churn, but it couldn’t be denied that Merlin was very…pretty. His fragile brand of fey beauty would be irresistible to men with a taste for brutality. The injuries Merlin had sustained made it all too clear that his last owner had thoroughly indulged just such an appetite at the young man’s expense.

Then there were Merlin’s less obvious _attributes_. It was clear to Gaius that he _must_ have magic. The binding runes encircling his throat on contiguous plates of cold iron would have told the old physician that much, even if they’d told him nothing else. The cumbersome band of leather and iron was far more than the simple slave collar he’d led Arthur to believe. Gaius hadn’t been lying when he said he’d seen such things before, though he had not for many years. Still, there was no mistaking a suppression collar for anything else. 

Most of the suppression collars he’d seen in Camelot over the years were crafted of solid iron, sharp-edged and malicious in design. A torment to the victim they bound, collars of such design weren’t intended for long term wear, as the sorcerers thus contained were shortly bound for execution. Merlin’s collar was different. Despite the chafing and scarring around the boy’s neck, it was plain to see that his collar wasn’t designed to injure the bearer. Unlike the more familiar metal collars, this one was _meant_ to be worn indefinitely. The fact that it wasn’t locked in place told Gaius quite a bit about both the slave and the owner who’d held him.

As Gaius had explained to Arthur, Merlin was wearing that collar voluntarily, but considering the nature of the boy’s injuries and the fact that he’d run away, Gaius very much doubted that Merlin was a willing servant. Most likely, he’d been conditioned through terror and violence to fear the collar’s removal. However, the fact that his collar had so clearly been designed for easy removal told Gaius that _someone_ wanted access to and probably was using Merlin’s magic on a regular basis for their own gain.

An attractive young boy with magic…Gaius could never say he was surprised that Merlin had wound up a slave in Essetir. The problem was that such a boy wasn’t safe in Camelot either. Where unscrupulous men had sought to exploit Merlin in Essetir, men of honour would seek to take his life in Camelot.

King Uther maintained an utterly ruthless ban on magic of _any_ kind. Performing even the simplest, most benign of enchantments was enough to earn a swiftly imposed sentence of death under Uther’s intolerant rule. It wouldn’t even matter if Merlin was never witnessed performing a single spell; if it was discovered that he even _possessed_ magic, the King would have his head. With everything the child had already suffered in his short life, it was intolerable to think of Merlin escaping all that only to find himself under the headsman’s axe through no fault of his own.

Even more troubling than the more obvious implications of an unlocked suppression collar was the nature of the binding used on Merlin. It was one of the oldest binding methods in existence, but one he’d never before seen used. Mostly because, while it was a relatively simple spell to cast, it required that the binding sorcerer know the _true name_ of the one being bound.

It was easy enough in theory, but extremely difficult in practice. What made it easy was the fact that the elements needed to bind a sorcerer’s power were present in _every_ sorcerer’s name. What made it difficult was that any sorcerer worth his staff knew this and took great pains to keep his true name secret, protecting that secret with his very life if need be. However it had been obtained, Merlin’s secret had been exposed, inscribed in iron, and cruelly displayed for anyone with knowledge enough to read it.

First the name by which he was called: MERLIN...and then the name to which his magic resonated: EMRYS.*

According to his collar, Merlin’s true name was Emrys. It was familiar to Gaius from a lifetime ago: a lifetime in which he, too, had once practiced magic. It was a name of great power…a name straight out of legend. Could this boy, Merlin…could he _really_ be the living embodiment of Druidic legend? Prophesied to be the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth…Merlin, a battered, abused, half-starved slave…could he really be _the_ Emrys? 

If he was, then it was no accident that he had come to Camelot…no mere coincidence that he had come into Gaius’ care. What that actually meant, though, remained to be seen.

Sighing deeply and feeling every year of his steadily advancing age, Gaius ascended the few steps to Merlin’s door with food in hand. Knocking softly, he hesitated only a few seconds before letting himself into the room. 

“Good morning!” he called out with false cheer. “Since it seems you’re not yet ready to join me at table, I brought you some breakfast. I wish I could stay to eat with you, but I have a busy day ahead of me.”

There was no reply but Gaius could just make out a faint rustling under the bed. If he hadn’t known there was a human being holed up down there, he’d have assumed a mouse or rat had taken up residence under the spare bed.

“I do wish you’d at least allow me to redress your wounds. You’ll wind up with a fever at this rate. Please?”

Nothing.

“All right; I still won’t force you.”

Once again setting the tray on the floor, Gaius deliberately left it further from the bed than he had the day before. As he turned to leave, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a slender, white hand and a long skinny arm reaching out for the tray. Gaius couldn’t help the broad grin that spread across his face. He didn’t think it would be too much longer before Merlin finally emerged from his hiding place.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“He’s certainly a skittish little thing, isn’t he?” Arthur commented as he backed down the stairs from Merlin’s room. Gaius just arched a single eyebrow in response to the prince’s massive understatement.

Having arrived earlier with the intent of dining with Gaius and his new dependent, Arthur had been visibly dismayed to find that Merlin wouldn’t be joining them.

“You mean he’s _still_ hiding under the bed?”

“I have yet to see more than an arm since he woke up.”

“This is absurd! He was out here when I arrived yesterday, but he was gone in a flash the moment I entered the room.”

Unsurprised to hear of Merlin’s reaction to being caught out in the open, Gaius had merely nodded in acknowledgement and carried on preparing supper while Arthur slipped quietly up the stairs to Merlin’s room. When he returned alone, Gaius manfully suppressed the urge to say, “I told you so,” though he couldn’t stop the slight twitching of his lips. 

“Skittish…yes, I suppose you could call it that.”

Arthur pulled a face in response to Gaius’ thinly veiled amusement, but made no other comment as he joined Gaius at the table.

“Is that onion and ale?”

Grinning in the face of Arthur’s obvious excitement, Gaius dished out two full bowls of the soup, but left the pot close at hand, knowing there would be a call for seconds. He was just passing over a thick wedge of fresh bread when the door to the spare room creaked open. Frozen with astonishment, Gaius could only stare as Merlin emerged from door and stood the top of the stairs, a small leather book clutched close to his chest. Sharing no such hesitation, Arthur beckoned Merlin closer with a casual wave and a sunny smile.

“Ah! Well timed, my friend. Gaius was just serving up his famous Ale and Onion soup!”

Merlin’s lips jerked up at the corners for a moment but flattened too quickly for Gaius to actually label the expression a smile. Taking one shaky step and then another, Merlin shuffled forward, resembling nothing so much as a newborn foal learning its legs for the first time.

Arthur rose to fetch another bowl and Gaius shook off his surprise in time to meet Merlin’s shy, darting eyes with a smile. He pulled a stool out from under a nearby workbench, draggged it over to the table, and patted the seat invitingly.

“Would you like to join us? There’s more than enough to share.”

Chin to chest, spine curled in submission, Merlin slowly lowered himself down on the seat as if expecting the thing to vanish beneath him at any moment. He settled the book in his lap while Arthur filled his bowl, and Gaius offered him the basket of crusty brown bread. He accepted with trembling fingers and wide, wondering eyes, then stared at the soup for a long moment before leaning down to sniff the surface. Evidently finding it to his liking, Merlin suddenly began lapping the hot liquid up straight from the bowl.

Arthur and Gaius watched in astonishment as tiny flecks of soup flew in all directions. Arthur _giggled_ \--Gaius was quite certain he’d not heard such a sound from the prince since before his voice had broken--and reached out for Merlin with a surprisingly gentle hand.

“No! No! Use the spoon! Here,” Arthur instructed. Snatching up the utensil and shoving it into Merlin’s hand, he proceeded to demonstrate its use. “See watch, like this. Got it?”

Clutching the spoon in an awkward fist, Merlin tried to copy the scooping motion of Arthur’s hand but wound up sending even more soup flying through the air. After just a few moments, he gave up with a frustrated growl and snatched up the bowl with both hands, draining it dry in seconds before sitting back with a loud belch.

Head thrown back, Arthur laughed long and hard before letting out a belch of his own. Gaius shook his head in mock disgust.

“Wonderful. Hilarious truly, My Lord,” he drawled, the formal address deliberate. “You two should form a comedy duo and join a touring company. You’ll be the talk of Albion.”

Arthur just continued to laugh and Gaius joined him after a moment. Merlin looked back and forth between them, uncertainty and confusion writ large on his expressive face. Eventually, he tried a little laugh of his own, but stopped once he realized it didn’t sound quite right. He tried a small smile next and seemed more comfortable with the results, his tense posture relaxing a bit as Gaius and Arthur continued to chuckle softly.

Ducking his head a bit, he glanced up beneath a flutter of long black lashes and spoke for the first time.

“I’m called…Merlin.”

Arthur smiled in delight and Gaius contented himself with a simple, “Welcome to Camelot, Merlin.”


	6. Chapter 5

[ ](http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/5/d5cf25a60e33575b16ff6a00f793dbf9-d6ko053.jpg)

Peeling the clean bandage away from Merlin’s chest, Gaius was pleased to note the flesh beneath had almost completely filled in. The pale skin would forever be marred by a thick, ropey scar but, alternatives considered, Gaius reckoned that a scar--no matter how ugly--to be a very small price to pay, indeed.

The young sorcerer remained terribly skittish in the presence of strangers, but gradually he’d come to relax around both Gaius and, rather surprisingly, Arthur as well. It seemed that Merlin’s plight had brought out the prince’s softer side; Gaius had never seen Arthur so patient with anyone before. He couldn’t help but think that Merlin was as good for Arthur as Arthur was for Merlin.

However, as smoothly as Merlin’s recovery was progressing, there were yet many things that still needed to be addressed. The most important of these was the issue of Merlin’s magic. He’d shown absolutely no inclinations toward using it since his arrival, but Gaius knew that he couldn’t just assume that Merlin _never_ would.

“Merlin…first, I just want you to understand that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm. All right?”

Eyes widening with apprehension, Merlin met Gaius’ steady gaze and silently nodded his acknowledgement. As comfortable as he seemed to become in recent days, Merlin still rarely spoke a word. Always using body language and hand gestures first, he resorted to speech only when absolutely necessary.

“All right then, in order to keep you safe here in Camelot, there are some things we need to talk about.”

Moving slowly, Gaius lifted a hand to Merlin’s neck and brushed his fingers across the iron embedded in the leather of Merlin’s collar. Startling violently, Merlin jerked away, one hand flying to the collar’s clasp. Curling a finger around the curved latch, he pressed down as if to make sure it remained safely closed. Gaius pulled his hand back and held it up, palm facing outward.

“It’s all right, Merlin. I’m not going to take it off. I know what it is…what it does, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Taking a deep breath, he couldn’t help the nervous glance he threw over his shoulder. He _knew_ there was no one around, but the topic he was about to broach could get them _both_ killed if overheard by the wrong person.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone wearing a collar like yours. I know you have magic, Merlin.”

Biting his lip, Merlin looked down, long dark lashes sweeping his high cheekbones. His shoulders hunched and he seemed to diminish in size. The slight bobbing of his head spoke of misery and resignation. A small sigh escaped his lips.

“You can’t use it, Merlin.”

Merlin’s head jerked up, his mouth falling open in surprise.

“Not here, not where anyone can see you.”

Dark curls swirling, Merlin shook his head from side to side.

“I don’t want to use it!” he exclaimed.

Arching an eyebrow, Gaius searched Merlin’s face questioningly. Mouth drawn tight, his earnest blue eyes bright with repudiation, he met Gaius’ questioning gaze head on.

“But you _do_ use it, do you not? Your collar has no lock.”

“I don’t want to…I don’t like it…don’t like hurting people. It’s bad; magic is bad!”

“Merlin…magic…magic doesn’t _have_ to be bad. It can be used to do wonderful things. It can heal as well as hurt, mend things as well as destroy them. It can nurture as well as corrupt.”

“No, not me. I’m bad, I can only do bad things. I hurt people.”

Sadness rose in Gaius’ chest as he regarded the trembling boy. What manner of horrors had been visited upon the poor child? He was filled with such self-loathing, such fear...what kind of atrocities had he been forced to commit? 

“Oh Merlin, you aren’t bad. Bad men made you do bad things but that doesn’t make _you_ bad. You have a choice now. You can learn to use your magic for good.”

“But you just said I can’t use it.”

“Well…no, not openly. Magic is forbidden here in Camelot.”

“Why? If it’s not bad, then why is it forbidden?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Gaius leaned back and regarded the agitated young man.

“A long, long time ago our king made…he made a mistake. He…there was a need, for his reign--for his kingdom--and he used magic to fill it, but it cost him very dearly. He paid a terrible price to answer the kingdom’s need, and as a result, he grew bitter toward magic. He blamed _all_ magic for the tragedy that befell him. He banned magic from the land and executed anyone caught using it.”

“See? Magic _is_ bad. Even the king says so.”

“No, Merlin…our king is a great man, but...he’s been blinded by grief and misfortune. I’ve lived a long life, and I’ve seen enough to know that magic can be as much a force for good as evil. I’ve witnessed truly great deeds accomplished by magic: lives rescued from the brink of death, wars shortened, homes protected, crops grown and disasters averted.”

Merlin listened closely, eyes wide with wonder.

“Magic itself, it’s neither good nor evil. It’s the people who wield magic that determine how it is used. Yes, some use it for their own ends, bend it toward personal gain at the cost of others. But there are many who are determined to use their power only for the greater good.”

His bottom lip caught between his teeth, Merlin looked down, hands fidgeting in his lap. He shook his head, his voice hoarse and low as he spoke.

“Not me, I can’t do good…I’m…I’m a _monster_.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “I can’t help people; I can only hurt them.”

“Merlin! Don’t ever think that! You are _not_ a monster!”

Neck bent, Merlin continued to shake his head from side to side.

“If you were truly a monster, you wouldn’t _care_ that you hurt people. You wouldn’t think twice about it. The fact that you _do_ care, that you don’t _want_ to hurt people, that tells me everything I need to know about you.”

Uncertainty glittered in the tears rimming Merlin’s eyes, but Gaius could see a small spark of hope burning there as well.

“You didn’t choose to use your magic that way, Merlin. Someone else chose for you.”

A tentative nod.

“But now, you are free. Now _you_ can decide what use to make of your power, determine the purpose for your gifts.

“A force for good.” 

Merlin had dimples, and when he smiled it didn’t just light up his face, it lit up the entire room. Gaius found himself smiling back helplessly. _Good lord, if he goes around smiling like that, he’ll have the whole castle eating out of his hand in no time!_ Speaking of…

“Now...come, Merlin. You’ve been stuck in these rooms for weeks. I think it’s time you got some fresh air, maybe took in some of the town.”

A shadow seemed to fall over the room as Merlin’s smile fled. He turned his head away, teeth once more worrying his lip. Gaius frowned a bit in concern.

“Really Merlin, Camelot is a lovely place. If you give it a chance, I think you’ll like it.”

Gaius had to strain to hear Merlin’s response. “I like it _here_.”

“You’ll like it out there as well, my boy, I promise. How about you join me on some of my rounds tomorrow?”

One shoulder rose and fell in a show of reluctant agreement.

“Don’t worry Merlin, you can come back here and curl up with a book after we finish.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“Excellent work today, Merlin. You’ve got a very sharp eye. I doubt that even I’d have noticed such a tiny growth on Lady Pursefor’s foot.”

A flush spread across Merlin’s cheeks even as a shy, sweet smile curved his full lips. As ever, Gaius found himself warmed by the bashful-yet-pleased way Merlin soaked up even the smallest bit of praise. Merlin had accompanied Gaius on his morning rounds of the castle every day for the past week. He’d been terrified at first, clinging to Gaius’ robes and half-hiding behind the physician like a child behind his mother’s skirts. However by the end of the first day, he had begun to let go and stood _beside_ rather than behind Gaius as they moved from patient to patient throughout the vast castle.

By the end of the second day, after watching everything Gaius did with an avid eye, Merlin was asking question after question with a bright and eager mien. Then, just this morning he’d made it clear he was observing the patients as closely as he was watching Gaius when he’d tentatively pointed out something that _Gaius_ had missed. The elderly physician couldn’t have been more pleased with Merlin’s rapid progress; he only hoped the boy would react as well to his next suggestion.

“You’ve done remarkably well this past week, Merlin. Yes, very well indeed. In fact, you’ve been doing so well that I think it’s time we expanded your horizons a bit.”

Busy refilling Gaius’ medicine bag, Merlin stilled at his words and turned to listen with an air of wary expectancy.

“My stores are running desperately short, and I need to make a trip down to the market in the lower town. I want you to come with me.”

Merlin turned away again. Chin to chest, his shoulders curving in and down he seemed to struggle for several long moments. Gaius didn’t press, simply stood by and allowed Merlin to make the decision for himself. And if he silently tried to _will_ Merlin into making the right decision, well, no one else would ever be the wiser. Eventually, after a few long moments of deliberation, Merlin lifted his chin, straightened his shoulders and turned back to face him.

“All right,” he said, nodding firmly as if to confirm his decision for himself.

“Thank you, my boy. I’ll be appreciative of the help, I’m not as young as I once was, you know.”

Giving Merlin a large empty basket to carry, Gaius fetched his coin purse and a list of the supplies he needed and led the way out of the castle. Merlin stayed close on his heel, so close in fact he’d knocked up _against_ Gaius’ heel several times before they’d even made it across the courtyard to the gate on the other side. Then, just as they were about to pass through on their way into the upper town, a familiar voice hailed them from behind.

“Gaius! Merlin!”

Arthur trotted into view and Gaius stifled a grin at Merlin’s start of surprise. However, he couldn’t suppress a chuckle when he saw the way Merlin’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he took in Arthur’s appearance. Day to day, Arthur preferred to dress quite simply--tunic, trousers, sometimes adding a sleeveless jerkin--but today he was clearly dressed for something _official_. Resplendent in a red, leather-lined velvet doublet and black leather breeches, for once the prince looked properly regal and it was clear that Merlin was more than a little impressed by the sight.

Seeming equally impressed to find Merlin outside Gaius’ chambers for the first time since he’d come to Camelot, Arthur had finished his approach and now stood beaming at Merlin.

“Merlin! It’s ah…it’s good to see you…you know…erm…out!”

Seeming to act without thought, Arthur leaned forward and tugged Merlin’s tunic-collar up as if to cast a deeper shadow over the iron and leather band around the young warlock’s neck. Merlin blushed an even deeper scarlet as Arthur’s fingers brushed over his skin. It was only as the heated colour began to suffuse Merlin’s cheeks that Arthur seem to realize what he was doing. Biting his lip, he snatched his hands away and took a half-step back.

Ducking his head to the side, Merlin peeked up at Arthur between his long, dark lashes in an subconsciously flirty gesture and it seemed it was the prince’s turn to blush. He took the half-step back and lifted his hand to Merlin’s cheek, brushing a thumb along the prominent ridge of bone, murmuring, “Eyelash,” as he did.

Reluctant to interrupt but increasingly aware the two were drawing attention to themselves, Gaius cleared his throat and jingled his coin pouch meaningfully. Startled, the two sprang apart and Gaius spoke smoothly over their flustered stammers.

“I do apologize, My Lord, but I’m afraid I have to replenish my stores,” he waved his list around and continued, “and I’ll be needing Merlin’s help to carry my supplies.”

“Of course, of course! Sorry, I was just so surprised to see Merlin out…I mean, I’m pleased to see you outside Merlin, _very_ pleased, it was just, you know…a surprise.”

Merlin beamed and Arthur blinked a few times before grinning in response.

“Since it took Gaius’ onion and ale soup to get you to come out from under the bed, I was beginning to think it might take an entire roast chicken to get you to actually leave his chambers!”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Merlin crossed his arms, tilted his jaw up to the right and thrust his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Aww, come now Merlin! Don’t you know when someone’s teasing you?”

Arthur reached out and gave Merlin’s shoulder a playful shove, sending the boy flailing for a few steps. Merlin retaliated with a gentle shove to the center of Arthur’s broad chest, but when the feeble push did nothing to move the prince’s solid bulk, Merlin tried again using both hands this time. Arthur threw his head back and laughed as Merlin bent his head and put his narrow back into the shove, his feet sliding comically on the pavers of the courtyard.

Amused as he was, Gaius felt it was probably past time to recall the prince to his duties and he cleared his throat again. Once more the boys broke apart, both sending sheepish glances in his direction.

“Merlin, I really think we should be going. Arthur, will we be seeing you for dinner this evening?”

“Sorry Gaius, I’m to dine with Father and Lord Tarryn of Farnswick this evening.” He didn’t roll his eyes, but Arthur’s tone was suggestive of a desire to do so. “I should be there tomorrow though. Lord Tarryn is departing in the morning and I don’t believe we have any other guests of any importance at the moment.”

“All right then, we’ll look forward to seeing you then. Merlin? Shall we?”

As his young charge nodded and lifted his hand to wave at Arthur, the prince forestalled the gesture by stepping close to give Merlin a quick peck on the cheek. Then, giving Merlin’s shoulder a fond little squeeze, Arthur left them with a breezy, “See you both tomorrow!”

Astonished, Merlin raised a hand to his cheek and brushed his fingers over the spot Arthur had kissed.

“He kissed me!”

Grinning, Gaius nodded and took the young warlock by the arm.

“Yes, he did.”

“But…why?”

“I would imagine it’s because he likes you.”

“He does?”

“Oh yes, undoubtedly.”

“But…but he’s the prince!”

Chuckling at Merlin’s innocent astonishment, Gaius led him through the gates and down the city’s main thoroughfare.

“Yes, he is the prince, but he’s also a man...and the man likes you.”

“Oh,” was all Merlin said as they made their way through the bustling crowd and headed for the market in the lower town.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Stumbling along after Gaius, Merlin kept touching his cheek, a wondering expression on his face. The Prince of Camelot had _kissed_ him. The Prince of Camelot, _Arthur_ had kissed him. Arthur had kissed him- _him_ -Merlin!

Merlin didn’t think he’d ever been kissed before. Papa certainly hadn’t; he’d always been more inclined toward kicks than he was toward kisses. And no one else…well, no one else had ever dared to touch Merlin. They were either too afraid of Papa--who was more than a little possessive--or they were afraid of Merlin himself. He’d heard mutters about rabid dogs on more than one occasion.

No, no one Merlin could _remember_ had ever kissed him and yet…the sensation wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. He had the vaguest sense of… _before_. Before his world became the collar and the pain, maybe even before Papa, although he certainly couldn’t remember anything before Papa…except, sometimes Merlin had dreams. Some of the dreams were scary, smoke and screaming and fear and pain, but some of the dreams were lovely and warm and safe and comforting. Merlin never could remember details about the dreams, neither the scary ones _nor_ the safe ones. He just woke up _feeling_ things and knowing the dreams weren’t just dreams but also somehow things that had happened to him, in a once upon a time he could no longer remember.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Merlin hadn’t realized that he’d followed along at Gaius’ heel all the way down to the market. He only became aware of his surroundings when he felt Gaius’ gentle hand on his shoulder guiding him to a stop before a market stall filled with row after row of dried plants tied in bunches and bundles. A round-cheeked woman with long brown hair stood behind the bundles, smiling genially at them both.

“Now Merlin, _this_ is Marnie. She’s got the best selection of herbs in all of Camelot.”

Marnie laughed and blew a kiss in Gaius’ direction.

“And _this_ is Gaius, he’s got the purest silver tongue this side of Market Square. But we all know you, you old charmer. I want to know who this handsome young thing is?” she said, boldly eyeing Merlin up and down.

Feeling a sudden need to hide, Merlin took a half-step behind Gaius and buried his face against the old man’s shoulder. Gaius ran a soothing hand down Merlin’s arm and he found the courage to lift his head far enough to peek at the lady from the safety of Gaius’ shadow.

She was still smiling as Gaius introduced Merlin and explained that he was newly arrived from the country and more than just a bit shy.

“Oh you’ll want to get over that, a lovely young man like you! Remember, it’s always better to be the one choosing than the one chosen!”

Confused as to her meaning, Merlin flashed an uncertain smile her way which seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for Marnie to turn her attention back to Gaius and his shopping list. Hovering over Gaius’ shoulder, Merlin watched every aspect of the transaction like the hawk he was named for. As he made his selections, Gaius explained the reasoning behind every choice. He told Merlin what to look for--the right shapes and colours, what to feel for--the different textures and levels of moisture within each herb, what each one should smell like and even what some should _sound_ like when they snapped, crunched, crumbled or bent between his fingers.

After the herb-seller’s stall, they moved on to purchase vegetables and Gaius was just as painstaking in his instructions about how to find the perfect carrot, “Go for the purple ones when you can, the yellow are not nearly as nice”, the perfect onion, “No this time you _want_ the yellow, not the purple”, the perfect peas, endive, asparagus, beets…the number of vegetables available was almost dizzying to a boy who’d eaten little but gray, tasteless pottage with the occasional carrot end or mushy pea thrown in to liven things up. At night, there had sometimes been stew, but by the time Merlin got a bowl, _if_ there were any vegetables in the pot they’d long since been reduced to an unrecognizable pulp in the thin, runny broth.

Those stews were most often made from rabbit or squirrel, and again, by the time the dregs were dished up for Merlin, there were precious few scraps of actual meat left for his bowl. Now Gaius led him to the butcher’s stall and showed him the amazing variety of meat available to the city-folk of Camelot. In addition to rabbit and squirrel there was: hedgehog, “No, I can’t say I care much for hedgehog Merlin,” and chicken, “Now chicken on the other hand, that’s my favourite,” goose and duck, widgeon and moor-hen, chevon and mutton, kid and lamb, “Kid tastes better, Merlin, but lamb is still quite tasty and a good deal cheape,r” and so many different cuts of pork and bear that Merlin lost track halfway through Gaius’ comparison of the virtues of each.

By the time they headed back to the castle, the basket was heavy in Merlin’s arms, and his was mind full to bursting with all the new information that Gaius had filled it with. While the physician had been quite patient with Merlin’s questions, he’d filled the spaces between questions with commentary on just about everything they passed in the market. Merlin tried to absorb it all, but there’d really been too much. Once he’d realized that, Merlin had concentrated on what interested him most--food and medicine. He let the rest of Gaius’ lessons go in one ear and out the other, hoping to pick them up another time.

In the few moments when Gaius hadn’t been speaking, or at least hadn’t been speaking to _him_ , Merlin listened to other conversations flowing amongst the market-goers and sellers. Merlin had spent his whole life listening in on other people’s conversations and he didn’t see any reason not to eavesdrop now. He’d been a bit surprised and more than a bit interested when he realized that Prince Arthur was among the most favoured gossip-fodder. Picking up little bits of information here-there-everywhere, he learned more about Arthur in one afternoon than he had in his many weeks of staying in the castle with Arthur himself. However, fascinating as it was, much of what he heard was contrary or confusing and while none of it was derogatory toward the prince, not all of it was entirely positive…though to be fair, most of the negativity was directed toward the king, not Arthur. Still, it made Merlin wonder…

Lost in thought, Merlin followed Gaius through the city, heedless of his surroundings until they reached the castle gates and a loud, hearty voice hailed the physician by name. A tall, curly-haired young man approached, wearing mail and the sweeping red cloak of a knight of Camelot. The two exchanged pleasantries for a few moments before the man Gaius had called “Sir Leon” turned his attention to Merlin.

Looking him up and down, the knight exclaimed, “Well, I must say you’re looking far better than the last time I saw you!”

At Merlin’s puzzled look, Gaius explained that Sir Leon had been with them when they first encountered Merlin in the woods. Embarrassed, Merlin ducked his head and felt the rise of a furious blush.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

Trembling, unaccustomed to attention from a stranger, Merlin just managed not to flinch as the tall knight clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“That’s all right, I didn’t really expect you to. You were pretty banged up when you found us. Threw your hands up in the air and fell right down on your nose in a dead faint. I think you gave the prince quite a scare.”

Sneaking a glance upward, Merlin observed a kindly light in the gray-blue eyes regarding him and he offered a small smile in response. Sir Leon grinned back and gave him another pat on the shoulder before turning his attention back to Gaius.

Listening to their conversation with only half an ear, Merlin concentrated on keeping his breathing even and stilling the tremor in his limbs as he reflected on the encounter. Relieved as he was for the shift in Sir Leon’s focus, Merlin felt pleased and just a little bit proud of himself. He’d actually managed to _speak_ to the stranger and he hadn’t shied away from the knight’s friendly gesture. It felt strange but...good. For a moment, Merlin had almost passed for…well, for a _man_ instead of a monster.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“Gaius?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

As he was in the midst of teaching Merlin how to make his favourite onion and ale soup, Gaius was expecting a cooking related question. Instead, Merlin asked, “What’s a tyrant?”

Startled, Gaius looked up from the pot he was stirring to meet Merlin’s troubled eyes, then straightened and turned away from the fire.

“A tyrant? Why it’s…it’s someone who uses his power unjustly. Like a ruler who oppresses his people.”

Merlin bobbed his head slightly, as if Gaius’ words were simply confirmation of something he’d already suspected. His brow crumpled a bit, his lips pursing as he tilted his head slightly to the side--as he so often did when he was puzzled by something.

“Is King Uther a tyrant?”

Heart skipping a beat, Gaius felt as if he’d been doused in cold water, so great was his shock at such a bold question. It was treason to speak such thoughts aloud!

“What on _earth_ are you on about, Merlin? Talk like that could get you hanged if anyone were to overhear!”

The boy’s eyes widened and his lower lip began to wobble, yet he still didn’t drop the matter.

“It’s just…I heard people in the market today and they said the King is a tyrant.”

Shaking his head, Gaius tried to dismiss the line of questioning, voice sharp with impatience, “You shouldn’t listen to such talk. It’s nothing but trouble.”

The sudden firming of Merlin’s chin came as a bit of a surprise.

“But…is he?”

Gaius regarded Merlin closely and sighed at the deeply troubled look in the young man’s deep blue eyes. Taking a seat beside him, Gaius wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and chose his next words carefully.

“Uther is a good man at heart. He acts from a true conviction that he is working to promote the greater good. Even when the means seem harsh, he feels the ends he achieves justify those means. However, while some of his decrees are less than fair, _most_ of them justly serve the majority of his people.”

“But…sometimes he _is_ unjust?”

“Yes, I’m afraid sometimes he is.”

“So is he a tyrant?”

“That’s not such a simple thing to answer, Merlin. It mostly depends on your place in the world. I suppose to some people, especially those who either possess magic or are sympathetic to those that do,” he paused to give Merlin’s shoulders a squeeze. “To those people he is a tyrant. But to most of the people in Camelot, he is a fair and fine leader. One thing for certain...Uther has brought peace and prosperity to this land since he came the throne.”

“I heard…” Merlin bit his lip uncertainly.

“Go on, Merlin. You’ve already taken an inch, you might as well go for the full mile.”

“What’s ‘the purge’?”

Caught off guard, Gaius choked, “It…it was…”

_Voices screaming, fires raging, blood, everywhere blood…children ripped from their mother’s arms, skulls dashed against the ground as their father’s heads rolled away from the executioner’s axe and their sisters screeched as they were immolated in the endless flames of the ravenous pyres…healers and priests, farmers and goodwives, pink-cheeked boys, fresh-faced girls, grannies and babes in the cradle, an endless parade of innocents dying by the thousands…the lucky ones driven from their homes and cast adrift, leaving aching voids in the hearts they left behind…Alice…_

Gaius closed his eyes. Jaw tightening, fists clenching he fought the rising tide of black memory that threatened to overwhelm him. He could see them all, every one of them: the ones who were caught unprepared when the edict first came down, the ones who didn’t believe the stories and the ones who were tricked by Uther’s lies. The dragons felled one by one, their Dragonlords falling just after, the sacred places of the Old Religion desecrated and destroyed as the priestesses fled the wave of soldiers sent to hunt them down; the peace-loving Druids scattered to the far corners of Albion…and of all those with magic, Gaius alone was spared. A singular oddity like the Great Dragon, Uther had chained him to his place just as ruthlessly as he had the mighty magical beast beneath the castle.

“It was a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“Eighteen years ago, King Uther proscribed the practice of magic. Every form of enchantment, whether great or small, malevolent or benign, _all_ of it was declared anathema. He decreed that death would be the punishment for any infraction of the law.”

The day the ban was announced, he beheaded fifty-four men, burned twenty five women and drowned thirteen children in the central square of the upper town. The next day, another thirty-five men, seventeen women and twenty-two children were killed in the city and Uther sent his soldiers out into the countryside to begin “purging” all the magic from Camelot.”

As he spoke, Gaius watched Merlin recoil and fold in on himself, curling up tighter and tighter with every word.

“He made it his mission to eradicate every trace of magic he could find--from both the people and the land. The strongholds of the Old Religion were destroyed, along with the acolytes who tended them. Every creature of magic, great or small, was hunted and killed, even the dragons. “

Eyes widening dramatically, Merlin exclaimed, “What? _Allstopped_. To this day, anyone caught using magic to so much as light a candle will be summarily executed. Just the accusation of sorcery is usually enough; Uther rarely requires proof.”

The last was meant as a warning and Merlin’s nod accepted it as such. Silence fell between them then, Gaius’ mind filled with dark memories while Merlin’s seemed to be pondering what he’d been told. Merlin got up to tend the soup, but after giving the bubbling cauldron a few stirs with the spoon, he turned and once again surprised Gaius with an unexpected question.

“Did Arthur’s mother die in the purge?”

“Good heavens, what _have_ you been listening to down in the market today?”

Merlin shrugged one shoulder and muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“They said it was eighteen years ago, so I thought…”

“No.” He still ached for poor Ygraine, for her loss and for what that loss had done to her husband, their son, and by extension _all_ his people. “No, Arthur’s mother died before the purge. It was her death…”

_I warned them...Oh, _why_ didn’t they listen to me? I told them!_

“Gaius?”

Surprised to feel Merlin’s hand on his shoulder, he looked up through a blur of tears and met the concern in the boy’s sweet blue eyes. He tried to smile but knew his effort was feeble.

“I’m fine, dear boy.”

“You’re sad.”

“Yes. It was a sad time. I knew Arthur’s mother very well.”

“Was she like him?”

His smile gained in strength.

“She was, both in looks and temperament.”

“So she was pretty? And nice?”

“She was beautiful. Arthur looks very like her, same hair, same eyes, same nose and chin. He gets his kindness from her as well. Though she wasn’t all sweetness and light; she could be just as stubborn as Uther when something really mattered to her.”

_Like the baby she was so desperate to have. No one could gainsay her once Nimueh offered her a solution._

“She died when Arthur was born.”

“Was the king very sad?”

A warmth bloomed in Gaius’ chest at the concern in Merlin’s voice. He was concerned for a man he’d just learned had slaughtered thousands of innocent people, for a man who would see Merlin dead for simply daring to exist. After everything he had been through, that Merlin still had a kind and loving heart was nothing short of miraculous.

“Yes Merlin, he was very sad. But he was also very angry. He blamed magic for Ygraine’s death and that’s why he banned magic and started the purge.”

“He must have loved her very much.”

“Oh yes, he most certainly did.”

“And Arthur? Does he love Arthur, too?”

“He loves Arthur. I’ve no doubt of that, but…” How could he explain this to Merlin?

“Uther is a great man and his feelings run deep, but sometimes when a man feels things too deeply…it can _hinder_ …the problem is that Uther isn’t just a man or a father, he’s also a king.”

Head cocked to the side, eyes bright and wide, Merlin leaned in close as Gaius hesitated. He wanted to answer Merlin’s questions, but while nothing he’d shared was confidential information, it was, nonetheless, personal to both Uther and Arthur.

“Being a king that is running a kingdom is terribly time-consuming, and after the Queen died, Uther threw himself into his work as king whole-heartedly; used that work to distract himself from his grief. And while I know he loved his son, I don’t know that he knew what to do with an infant. It seemed best to leave the young prince in the hands of nurse-maids who did.”

“And then, of course, there was the war on magic. Consumed as he was with protecting his kingdom, the King didn’t really have the time to raise a son. Again, I think he felt it was best that Arthur’s care remain primarily in the hands of his governess and tutors.”

 _And as Arthur had grown he’d begun to look more and more like his mother,_ Gaius thought. He could see that it had hurt Uther to look at his son and see so much of the wife he’d lost. The worst of it had been during Arthur’s preadolescent years. Before he’d begun to look like a man, Arthur had borne a _painful_ likeness to Ygraine as a girl. Uther couldn’t even bear to look at him until he’d completely passed through puberty.

“And you? He left him with you, too?”

He shot Merlin a startled glance. It was nothing less than truth, but he was surprised by Merlin’s perspicacity. 

“Yes, Arthur did spend quite a lot of his time with me as a child. He…well, he needed a bit more guidance than Uther’s staff were providing. He seemed to take a shine to me and it seemed only natural to take him under my wing, so-to-speak. Arthur’s a bright lad and he showed an early interest in the healing arts. I’m afraid I found that a rather irresistible combination.”

“They said, in the market today, I heard…”

“It’s all right, Merlin. What did you hear?”

“Someone said not to worry, that I was in good hands…she said, ‘Gaius is more of a father to our prince than the King,’ and that you practically raised Arthur yourself.”

Shaking his head, Gaius laughed a bit in amazement.

“You certainly had your ears open today, didn’t you, Merlin?”

Chin bobbing up and down in earnest agreement, Merlin continued to gaze at Gaius with quiet expectancy.

“I must confess he has become like a son to me. I’ve no family to speak of, not anymore.”

He regarded the quiet young warlock for a moment, wondering if this was the opening he’d been waiting for. Was Merlin ready to share a few answers of his own?

“Do you have a family, Merlin?” Merlin shook his head in emphatic denial. “Do you remember if you ever did?”

“I don’t…I don’t really remember much before…I don’t know if there _was_ a before…”

“Before what?”

Merlin ran the fingers of one hand over his collar in response. “Before _this_. I can’t remember before this, but sometimes…sometimes I have dreams. Only, I think maybe they’re _not_ dreams. I think it’s what was before.”

“What do you dream?”

“Different things. Sometimes it’s warm and safe and it smells…it smells like here.”

“Like here?”

“Like your rooms, like herbs. But it’s smaller, closer, darker somehow. I think…I think it was just a room but it was the whole thing, just that room. And…I think maybe it was my mother? I don’t ever see her, but I can hear her sometimes and she’s sweet…and soft. There were other people sometimes. I think maybe it’s a village? It’s quiet like a village.”

Curious, Gaius asked, “Did it smell like cooking herbs? Like the kitchens? Or like-?”

“No, no it smelled like here, like healing herbs. I thought of it the first time I noticed it, after I woke up. It smells like my dreams in here.”

“Do you think your mother was a healer?”

Face pinched, Merlin began to visibly grow agitated. Twitching in his seat with tears running down his cheeks he cried out, “I…I don’t know! I can’t remember!”

The need to comfort was so deeply ingrained that Gaius didn’t even think twice before reaching out to run a soothing hand down Merlin’s arm. Immediately responding to the touch, Merlin curled in to Gaius’ side, tucking his head against the physician’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, Merlin, shh. It’s all right; calm down.”

Gaius rubbed soothing circles into Merlin’s back and reflected on the boy’s hazy recollections. It sounded as though Merlin’s mother might have been some kind of healer, or maybe an herbalist? He wondered if…

Suddenly the image of a girl he’d once trained rose before his mind’s eye. A dark-haired, blue-eyed girl with a gift for growing herbs, a girl who’d once had a son, a little boy born with the gift of magic. A boy who’d been snatched from her when he was barely four years old, stolen during a bandit’s raid on her village.

 _Could Merlin be…?_ They’d found the boy near the border with Essetir, and the village where Hunith _had_ been living when her son was taken was near there. In fact, last he’d heard, she still lived there. That had been more than twelve years ago, making her boy about sixteen or seventeen years old. Merlin looked a bit younger than that, but...it was hard to tell for certain. The boy had probably never been properly fed in his entire life. The lack of nutrition _could_ have stunted his growth, made him seem younger than he was _or_ he could just be a late bloomer….

Gaius couldn’t control the wild leap of hope in his heart. _If it was true…_

Hunith’s child _had_ been richly gifted with magic, levitating objects with ease long before he could walk or talk. Burdensome as that had been for a mother without so much as a spark of magic herself, the little boy’s magic hadn’t come as much of a surprise considering who’d fathered him. Another dear friend, one lost to them both before Hunith had even known she was pregnant. It had been a terrible blow to her when she’d lost her son as well.

Gaius _had_ to know, and there was only one who could answer the question, only one who would know for sure. Gaius resolved to speak with him as soon as possible.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Making his way past the guards on duty was a simple matter of passing them a jug of drugged wine. Theirs was not considered an important post; after all, their captive hadn’t stirred from his cell in almost twenty years. No one ever visited and the only point of having two guards instead of one was so that the second could keep the first one awake…not that they often bothered. If they fell asleep together and didn’t rise until the next shift kicked them to consciousness, well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Once the liquored up fools were snoring over their cups, Gaius slipped past them, grabbed a torch and descended the stairs into the blackness beyond. Where the stairs ended, the tunnel widened for a few steps before opening out into an enormous cavern some two hundred feet below Camelot’s citadel. Holding the torch aloft, Gaius cried out into the echoing space, “Hello! It’s me, Gaius!”

A deep mellow voice answered from the darkness, “How old man can become in such a short span of years. You really do live such tiny, little lives.”

The taunts didn’t bother Gaius. He knew that voice well, knew that Uther’s prisoner was bored and baiting the only visitor he’d had in over a decade was entertainment for him.

“Yes, yes we’re all so very insignificant compared to you. Now, would you please come out, Kilgharrah? I’ve something I need to discuss with you.”

A great scaled head the size of a house suddenly appeared in the dim pool of flickering torchlight, the rest of the creature’s body lost in the darkness. Faint wisps of smoke escaped immense nostrils as the dragon snorted without humour and regarded Gaius knowingly from enormous golden eyes.

“I had a feeling I’d be seeing you one of these days.”

Gaius raised single eyebrow. “Then you know why I’m here?”

Kilgharrah gave him the faintest of nods. “The boy.”

“You know about Merlin?”

Although it wasn’t terribly surprising, Kilgharrah’s awareness of Merlin’s presence was confirmation that at least some of Gaius’ speculations had been spot-on.

“Of course, as do you. Was he not the reason you last searched me out?”

Eyes widening, Gaius felt his heart begin to pound. He had not expected to have _that_ bit of conjecture confirmed so quickly.

“Then it’s true, then. Merlin _is_ Balinor’s lost child?”

“Merlin? Is that what his mother named him?” Kilgharrah chuckled for a moment before abruptly sobering.

“I’ve been calling to the little falcon since he arrived in Camelot, though I’ve been unable to reach his mind. Something is blocking me.”

“He’s wearing a suppression collar.”

The dragon looked affronted. “You collared the boy?”

“Not I!” It was Gaius’ turn to feel affronted. “He’s been living as a slave since he was stolen from his mother. He doesn’t speak much, but it’s obvious that he’s been…damaged. He refuses to take the collar off. He’s terrified of his magic.”

“That is something that _must_ be rectified, Physician. His magic, _his future_ is vital to us all.”

This time, surprise had his heart stuttering to a stop. “So…it’s true then? He’s…he is the one…”

“Oh yes!” Kilgharrah leaned closer with an eager air that sat strangely on his ancient shoulders. “He and the young Pendragon one day will unite the land of Albion.”

“Then Merlin…he is…Emrys?”

“Indeed,” Kilgharrah purred with satisfaction.

“That means that Arthur is-“

Now the dragon’s reptilian smile turned decidedly smug. “The Once and Future King.”

It made sense, the way both boys had gravitated toward each other. Arthur was usually far more reserved in his dealings with strangers, and well, Merlin had been so traumatized that he would barely speak to anyone. It seemed only Arthur could truly coax him from his shell.

“When I saw the name on his collar, I suspected it might be so. Already, the two boys bond.”

His eyes alight with unaccustomed joy, for once Kilgharrah’s laugh was bright and free of mockery.

“Then rejoice! It bodes well that they accept each other so readily. Did I not tell you when the boy disappeared that if Destiny required him, he would be found once more?”

Both eyebrows shot skyward at that. Thirteen years ago when he’d come with the news that the only son of the last Dragonlord was missing, Kilgharrah had been anything but reassuring.

“You can’t blame me for having doubts. You never told me he was _Emrys_.”

The dragon raised an admonishing claw. “I did not know until today that your missing boy _was_ Emrys. I only knew that Emrys was here in Camelot and that I could not reach him.”

Trying hard to corral his whirling thoughts, Gaius merely nodded in response.

“Tell me. What is that ails the boy?”

“I told you he was a slave. Whoever had him brutalized him in the most obscene ways, convinced him he was no better than an animal. From what little he’s told me, the man forced him to use his powers only to cause pain, destruction, and death. He’s been conditioned to fear what he is, what he becomes when he has access to his magic. This is why he will not take the suppression collar off…and this is why I won’t _make_ him.”

The dragon listened intently, keeping silent even after Gaius was finished speaking. They stood contemplating the words between them for a long, quiet moment. Gaius’ mind reeled with the implications of what the dragon had confirmed for him. Of course, as soon as he’d seen the writing on Merlin’s collar he’d suspected he could be the legendary Emrys. However, it was one thing to suspect and quite another to know for certain.

Merlin, that battered boy they’d found in the woods, was the same boy who’d been stolen from his friend Hunith some thirteen years ago, and the son of the lost Dragonlord, Balinor. But that sadly broken boy was also Emrys, a name out of legend, a prophesied coming…the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth.

After a while, Kilgharrah broke the silence.

“Yes, you’ve been wise not to force the boy. I think it best he be allowed to keep the collar until he has some measure of self-control. With such power at his command and no idea how to wield it…”

He paused and eyed Gaius closely.

“Are you ready for such a charge, Gaius? It will be no easy task to guide the young warlock along the path to his destiny. You’ve always shied away from committing yourself to our cause in the past. Have you the resolve for it?” 

Taking in a deep breath, Gaius carefully considered the dragon’s words. In the eyes of Kilgharrah and those who stood against Uther in his persecution of magic, Gaius was no better than a spineless traitor. It did not matter to them that he’d helped the last Dragonlord escape from Camelot when the Great Dragon was captured. It did not matter to them that he’d smuggled many a magical child out from under the noses of the witchfinders, or that he claimed scientific explanations for obvious acts of magic, sparing the people of Camelot--both magical and mundane--more than one scourge. No, he’d turned his face away from the frontal assault twenty years ago, and Gaius’ underground efforts meant little to those who had continued to fight on the front lines.

Gaius knew his own commitment to the cause was true, as true as any magic user who’d openly defied Uther’s purge and died for his efforts. At least he had the comfort of knowing that while he couldn’t save all, at least he’d saved _some_. It was more than Kilgharrah could say for himself. As he’d helped others who needed him, so would he help Merlin. And it wasn’t because Kilgharrah asked it of him, nor was it because the boy was Emrys, figure of legend and prophecy. Gaius would help Merlin because he was a boy who _needed help_.

“Well, old man? Are you ready for such a task? Are you willing to take this boy on?”

Meeting Kilgharrah’s great golden stare head on, Gaius lifted a single eyebrow, and declared simply, “I am.”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

After stripping off his armour and leaving it in a heap on his bench in the armoury, Arthur toweled the sweat from his body and reflected on the morning’s training. It had been a good couple of hours of physical exertion--enough to tax his resources, but not so much that he was left aching and exhausted. He’d worked up quite a sweat in the late-spring sunshine, but there’d been so much cool water offered by the eager hands of restless squires that Arthur hadn’t suffered from the drain of dehydration. He felt vaguely dirty and a trifle hungry, but he knew that a light meal and a basin of clean water for washing up would be waiting in his room, as they were every day.

Arthur didn’t take such comforts for granted; he knew that in battle, be it spontaneous conflict on the road or serious, protracted warfare, there would be no such amenities on offer. And while he’d been lucky enough to avoid encountering the latter, he knew it was just a matter of time. Camelot’s peace, hard-won by his father, was a precarious thing at best. The threat of armed conflict with two of their nearest neighbors was constant and ever to be guarded against.

So Arthur trained with the other knights of Camelot, just one among many for now, but supposedly being groomed to lead them someday. Arthur hoped that day would come soon, as his father’s First Knight, Sir Urien, while a skilled and venerated warrior, was distinctly behind the times. Stodgy, rigid, and entirely too set in his ways, the man was unwilling to entertain a viewpoint that was not his own, nor would he even _consider_ that there might be newer, more efficient ways to train Camelot’s fighting men. Arthur was often at loggerheads with the older man, frustrated by his intransigence and dismissively patronizing attitude. Sir Urien was never openly disrespectful, but his tone of voice was often reminiscent of a bored nanny warning her charge not to stick his nose in matters that were beyond him.

Unfortunately for Arthur, it seemed his father shared both Sir Urien’s view of the prince’s abilities--consistently reminding Arthur of his lack of years (“You’re not even of age, Arthur.”) and his lack of “serious military experience” (“Chasing down bandits and rounding up Druids is not the same as war.”) as well as the elder knight’s reverence for tradition (“It’s the way things have always been done and it’s the way things will always be done, Arthur. Tried and true methods are to be trusted. If they were good enough for your forebears, they are good enough for you.”). Used as he was to Gaius’ open mind and thirst for new knowledge, this abhorrence of innovation made little sense to Arthur.

Huffing in frustration, Arthur hurled his sweat-sodden towel onto a pile of dirties in the corner and slipped on a clean tunic. Having no official duties for the rest of the afternoon, Arthur left the armoury, and decided to head for the Court Physician’s chambers instead of his own. Gaius was always ready to lend an ear to Arthur’s frustrations and offer what counsel he could to ease the Prince in his disjointed dealings with the King. Arthur respected his father, truly and honestly, and while he felt a deep, abiding loyalty to Uther as both ruler and parent, he didn’t often understand the man. Why was he _so_ invested in the past? Wasn’t the future more important? The past was done and gone but the future was still there just waiting to be shaped and saved. Forward thinking could prevent so much hardship in times to come.

Though it was disloyal to think it, Arthur sometimes found himself grateful that Uther had had so little to do with his upbringing, lest he be as hide-bound and bogged down with “tradition” as his father seemed to be. With his love for science and a predilection for eclectic esoterica, Gaius had bestowed a rare gift upon Arthur when he’d instilled in him that same love of learning. And from what Arthur had been able to observe thus far, it now seemed Gaius had yet another such ready and open mind in his latest charge, Merlin.

A genuine smile eased the tension of Arthur’s lowered brow as an image of the younger boy flashed through his mind. Bright-eyed and eager as a puppy, Merlin had been following Gaius everywhere he went for the past few weeks. Merlin still didn’t speak much, and though he continued to jump at shadows and flinch away from raised voices, he _had_ relaxed to a heartening degree since his arrival in Camelot. He did anything Gaius or Arthur asked him to without complaint, kept his little room tidy (though strangely, he never seemed to make his bed) and he watched _everything_ around him with an eye as sharp as the falcon he was named after.

It was actually a bit unnerving how closely Merlin observed the world around him. Sea-blue eyes wide with wonder, he could watch the most mundane activities as if he’d never seen anything of the like before in his life, as if he’d been born in another world and had only recently come to theirs. Merlin was fascinated by everything around him…and Arthur found himself captivated by Merlin’s fascination.

Almost as if Arthur’s thoughts had conjured him, Merlin was suddenly before him in the corridor. Walking slowly with an empty canvas bag slung over one shoulder, wide eyes darting everywhere, he was making his way from Gaius’ tower with shuffling, hesitant steps.

Surprised to see the dark-haired boy alone, Arthur called out to him, “Merlin?”

The tall slender figure whirled around to face him, and on recognizing the prince, bounded over eagerly, all awkward limbs and big feet.

“Arthur!”

“Merlin!” Arthur took him by the shoulders, leaned in close and peered into his eyes. “Are you all right? Where’s Gaius?”

A tiny smile on his face, Merlin nodded and lifted the strap of the canvas bag.

“He said I should go to the market.”

“All by yourself?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wow! Big day, eh? So the old nanny-goat finally allowed you out on your own, eh? Care for some company?”

Merlin seemed to light up at the question. His eyes brightened, his shoulders straightened, and his smile widened as he answered with an enthusiastic, “Yes, please!”

Arthur found himself grinning and slinging an arm round Merlin’s shoulders.

“Where shall we go?”

“Gaius said to buy herbs.”

“Is that all?”

Merlin nodded.

“Did he tell you to come straight home?”

“…no?”

“Good, because I have an idea and I really think you’re going to like it.”

He turned around, steering Merlin alongside him as he headed back up the corridor he’d just come from. 

Several minutes later, Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes grew so wide, a tap to his back was likely to shake them from his skull. Pleased as punch when Merlin’s jaw dropped as he turned in a slow circle to gape at the wonder around him, Arthur clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and basked in a sense of accomplishment. Then, spotting trouble out of the corner of his eye, Arthur moved swiftly to head it off.

“Lord Geoffrey! How lovely to see you.”

Stepping away from Merlin, Arthur met the Court Archivist head on, a genial smile pasted on his face.

“Prince Arthur, and…” His voice was ponderous and slightly demanding as he peered around Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur saw his eyes narrow and his lip curl as he took in Merlin’s humble clothes and rumpled hair. He turned accusing eyes on the prince.

“Might I inquire as to what brings you and your…companion here today? May I offer my assistance so that you may hasten to your goal?”

“That’s all right, Geoffrey. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your work. I know just how important it is.”

“Well, yes, of course...but I always have time to spare for your Highness’ needs,” he blustered, every inch the pompous scholar. “Perhaps it’s something for Gaius?” he continued, all the while running a dubious eye up and down Merlin’s unkempt figure.

“Oh no, I just wanted to show Merlin here around the library. He’s going to be Gaius’ new apprentice, you know,” Arthur improvised. It was probably true. Though he hadn’t actually discussed it with the physician yet, Gaius _had_ been taking Merlin along on his daily rounds.

“Is that so? How very interesting,” Geoffrey said, his tone of voice conveying the very opposite meaning. “Young man, be careful with those, they are terribly valuable!”

Arthur turned in time to see Merlin snatching his hand back from a pile of books the archivist had left on a nearby table.

“I’ll be right there, Merlin. Why don’t you go look at that case over there?” Arthur pointed to a bookcase full of large tomes bound in elaborately embossed leather. They contained a complete (and very boring) history of Camelot’s tax codes and land revenues, but Merlin couldn’t actually read anyway and the pretty covers would keep him occupied for a few minutes.

Turning back to Geoffrey, he fixed the older man with a gimlet stare. “We’ll leave you to your work, Lord Geoffrey, and I’ll be happy to convey your respects to my father when I breakfast with him tomorrow morning.”

Geoffrey grudgingly returned to his desk and took up his quill, continuing to shoot suspicious glances in their direction as Arthur collected Merlin and led him into the stacks. His irritation with the draconian records-keeper quickly dissipated in light of Merlin’s obvious delight.

As they wandered amongst the towering shelves of books, Arthur was content to allow Merlin to take the lead. Darting here and there, he stroked the many volumes bound in sumptuous cloth and soft, supple leathers with long, reverential fingers. Looking to Arthur for approval, he pulled a few from their shelves and thumbed through each with a delicate touch.

Glancing over his shoulder every now and then, Arthur was amused to see Lord Geoffrey dive out of sight a few times. Once, he even caught the paranoid old scholar peering through the gap between a pair of books on a shelf behind them. As soon as he met them, the faded blue eyes dropped out of sight and Arthur snickered, imagining the pompous man ducking down to avoid detection as he followed them along the aisle. 

More delightful than the librarian’s discomfort (grand though it was) was Merlin’s enchantment with the bounty of knowledge spread out before him. So focused was he that Merlin never even noticed the Librarian’s less-than-stealthy lurking in the stacks behind him. Arthur marveled that Merlin should so delight in the written word when he himself was, as of yet, still unable to actually read it. However, Arthur could see the longing in the other boy’s eyes, and he promised himself that he’d rectify that iniquity soon enough. A warm and eager anticipation curled in Arthur’s chest at the thought. _He_ was going to teach Merlin to read.


	7. Chapter 6

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After a long, lingering hour in the library, Arthur thought it past time to put an increasingly apoplectic Lord Geoffrey out of his misery and gently directed Merlin toward the door. His feet heavy with reluctance, Merlin shuffled forward at Arthur’s direction but he turned his head to watch the view recede over his shoulder until they were back out in the corridor. Arthur heard Merlin sigh as he shut the door behind them.

Turning his shining eyes toward Arthur, Merlin breathed, “Thank you!” Just two words but they conveyed a world of meaning when coupled with Merlin’s twinkling eyes, wide smile, and eager posture. He was so beautiful in that moment it made Arthur’s heart ache.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur replied, his voice raspy with unfamiliar emotion. How did Merlin manage to do this with such ease? Arthur was damn near unmanned by the younger boy’s radiant joy. Clearing his throat and turning his gaze away, Arthur led the way, heading back the same way they’d come. Silence reigned, but instead of an awkward void between them, it felt more like a comfortable cushion for thought. Arthur took the time to try to sort through the complicated tangle of emotion Merlin so effortlessly inspired in his breast, wondering--not for the first time--how it should be that an ignorant, skinny, near-silent slave boy could affect him like no one else he’d ever met. He might have attributed it to the innocent joy Merlin seemed to take in the simplest of things, but for the fact that Arthur had felt an effect on his emotions from the first moment he’d looked into Merlin’s eyes, glazed with pain and wide with confusion.

It seemed that Merlin was just as preoccupied as Arthur, for it wasn’t until they had retraced their steps as far as the turning that led to Gaius’ chambers that Merlin stopped and exclaimed, “I still have to go to the market! I have to get the herbs for Gaius.”

“Don’t worry, we’re going there next. The library’s on the far side of the castle, so we had to double back. All right?”

Dimpling at Arthur, Merlin nodded and fell in step beside him as they bypassed Gaius’ tower and headed out across the courtyard. Men and women of assorted stations paused to sketch a bow or dip a shallow curtsey as they passed, and Arthur absently acknowledged each with a nod. Used to the little ritual, he paid no real heed to the attention until he noticed Merlin edging closer and closer to him until the tall, slender boy was practically glued to his side, an anxious hand curled around Arthur’s forearm.

“What is it, Merlin? What’s wrong?”

“Everyone…everyone…why do they keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“The…staring and the…the bobbing up and down thing.”

“The bobbing…oh! You mean the bowing and the curtseying?”

Just then, a well-dressed burgher in a crimson kirtle justified Merlin’s description by bobbing a quick curtsey in Arthur’s direction before continuing on past. As Merlin pointed excitedly at the woman, bouncing on his toes, with his head swinging back and forth between Arthur and the red-clad townswoman, Arthur found himself _giggling_ at the other boy’s triumphant gyrations. Clearing his throat, Arthur attempted to stifle the unmanly sound but wound up losing control of his mirth again as Merlin caught sight of a pair of old men bowing to Arthur in perfect unison. He tugged Arthur’s around to look with an expression of utter incredulity on his face.

“There! Look at them? See? Look at that. Why are they _doing_ that?”

Throwing an arm around Merlin’s shoulders Arthur tugged him down into a gentle headlock and proceeded to thoroughly ruffle his shiny black hair.

“It’s a sign of respect, _Merlin_ , of honour. Two emotions _you_ have never bothered me with.”

Squirming in his hold, Merlin panted, “Bouncing up and down honours you?”

“It’s not bouncing, Merlin, it’s bowing…and curtseying.”

Curling his long fingers around Arthur’s side, Merlin attempted to push the prince off him, but wound up discovering one of Arthur’s ticklish spots instead. Instantly, Arthur flinched, then bit his lip and tried to hold on but his reaction had given him away. Merlin immediately moved to take advantage, rhythmically wiggling the tips of his fingers over Arthur’s ribs.

“The red lady _bounced_ ,” Merlin huffed as Arthur let out an indignant squeal, released him and squirmed away.

“That was a curtsey, _Mer_ lin. It was just…a quick one. She wasn’t bouncing!”

Leveling a look at Arthur that clearly said _”Bullshit,”_ Merlin merely repeated himself. “She _bounced_.”

Chuckling as an image of the woman rose in his mind’s eye, Arthur had to concede that yes, the woman _had_ bounced. This time he wrapped his arm around Merlin’s waist, pulling him close as they passed through the castle gates into the upper town.

“She did bounce, didn’t she?”

Grinning wildly, Merlin nodded enthusiastically in agreement, leaning ever so slightly into Arthur’s side. Warmth curled through the prince at the gesture of trust, and he towed Merlin down the cobbled street with a light heart and a bright smile.

“You know, this is actually quite a big day for you; the first time Gaius sent you out on your own! We should take a moment to revel in the occasion!”

“What’s that?”

“Hmm? What? Reveling?”

Merlin nodded.

“You know, a celebration!”

Merlin continued to stare at him quizzically, tilting his head to the side as he often did when he was puzzled.

“A celebration, yeah?” Merlin shook his head--apparently not. “A celebration, um, merrymaking? What you do when you want to mark an occasion. Like when something special happens, you _do_ something special to remember it by.”

“But…isn’t the something special _special_ enough?”

“Well, the special something isn’t always fun and celebrating should _always_ be fun…not that it always is,” he said thinking of some of his father’s more ponderous “celebration” feasts. Some of those were downright tedious and frustrating. In fact…

He quickly grew impatient with his line of thought and exclaimed, “Oh enough! Just come on, Merlin, you’ll soon get the hang of it!” before hurrying their steps toward the marketplace.

“How about a drink before we hit the market, eh? Ever been to a tavern before?”

Merlin dipped his head in affirmation, but he tensed up and didn’t look particularly enthused. Arthur could only guess at what sort of memories he had tucked away in his head, but they didn’t look to be happy ones. Mentally cursing every person who’d ever hurt Merlin, Arthur made a silent promise to the boy at his side that, starting now, he’d never let anyone hurt him again.

Unwilling to upset Merlin further, Arthur cast about for a means to celebrate that didn’t involve getting roaring drunk down at the Rising Sun. Maintaining a cheerful mien and said, “All right, we’ll skip the tavern. Maybe we’ll visit the wine seller instead. Old Crispus usually has a couple of good vintages to sample!”

He felt Merlin relax beside him, and Arthur smiled as another idea popped into his head. “I know! Let’s stop for some sweets as well!”

“Sweets?”

“You know, sweetmeats and pastries, small cakes and tartes!”

“Never had any of those.”

Again, Arthur felt his heart contract. What kind of life had Merlin led before now? Even the lowest peasant in Camelot could afford a bit of honey now and then to make treats for special occasions. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Arthur made Merlin another promise, this time out loud, “You’re going to _love_ them! I promise. Come on!”

Grabbing Merlin by the hand, Arthur tugged him down the street, eager to show him what he’d been missing all this time.

They wandered from stall to stall for several minutes as Arthur described the various offerings to Merlin, “Tartes, this one is strawberry and there’s apple and fig and quince.” 

Then he pointed toward the piles of small cakes, “That’s gingerbread, it’s spicy and sweet at the same time. And there’s almond, and fig but my favourite are the shortbread ones.” 

Merlin looked at the small, pale yellow biscuits, “Short because they’re so small?” 

Arthur laughed, “No, it’s because it’s all crumbly.” 

He demonstrated by pinching off a piece and crumbling it between his fingers before offering the small cake to the wide-eyed boy. Shoving the whole thing in his mouth at once, Merlin chewed for a moment before grinning and asking for another. By the time they moved on, Merlin was clutching a small cloth bag filled with every kind the stall carried.

They moved on and Arthur steered Merlin to a pastry-maker’s stall. Excited to show Merlin his favourites, Arthur pointed his finger and exclaimed, “Ryschewys, those are mashed figs in a fried pastry,” and “these are Lente Frytoures, they batter apple rings and fry them til they’re crispy”. 

Then he spotted a man pouring batter from a funnel straight into a vat of bubbling hot oil and pulled Merlin around to look.

“See that? He’s making fresh crysps. He’ll coat the cake in sugar when it’s done and you eat it while it’s still hot. Want one?”

Not knowing to let it cool first, Merlin burned his fingers and tongue on the hot, sugary dough when the pastrycook set a freshly fried cake down in front of him. “You thaid to eat id hod!”

Arthur found himself snickering madly as Merlin rapidly juggled the hot cake from hand to hand, even while he grinned in pleasure at the first taste. Reaching out a hand to ruffle Merlin’s hair again, Arthur paused for a moment, realizing that never in his life had he been so tactile with anyone before. He just couldn’t seem to stop _touching_ Merlin. 

Shrugging slightly to himself, he decided not to think too hard about it. _Merlin_ was nothing like anyone he’d ever encountered before. It followed along that Arthur would have different reactions to him. Hooking a hand behind Merlin’s neck, Arthur gently pulled him away from the pastries. Still happily munching on his crysp, Merlin offered no resistance.

At the next stall he showed Merlin the various custards on display. 

“Those are called Darioles, coloured custards baked in a pie shell. The custard is always red, yellow and green but I’m not sure why,” Arthur mused aloud.

Then he spotted several small tubs of thick, creamy custard and exclaimed “Oh! my favourite, Crème Boylede!” 

Merlin’s wide-eyed reactions fueled Arthur’s enthusiasm and he pulled the other boy further down the table, saying, “I think you’d like this one, Merlin! Flaune of Almayne, they put spiced apples and pears in custard then bake it all in a pie.” He continued to scan the other offerings as Merlin shyly accepted a sample from the baker.

“Ah, Gaius really loves Flathonys,” Arthur told Merlin, picking up yet another pie, “it’s ale custard. We should bring some back for him.”

After purchasing the pies, they wandered past a few more stalls before they reached one selling sweetmeats. Grinning from ear to ear, Arthur stopped Merlin with a hand on his arm and gestured to the bounty spread out before them. At first glance, Merlin seemed unimpressed with the rows of tiny confections. Anticipating a quickening of interest once his tastebuds were engaged, Arthur asked the confectioner for his favourite specialty and presented a large piece to Merlin.

“This is toffee, it’s made from butter…” he trailed off when, once again, Merlin shoved the entire thing in his mouth and bit down on it. Arthur’s murmured, “It’s _really_ sticky,” was unnecessary as it quickly became clear that Merlin had already discovered that for himself.

He froze in place, his eyes growing impossibly large as his jaw tensed and twitched. Jerking his chin up, the muscles in his neck contracted as he fought to separate his top teeth from his bottom. Swinging his head first to the left and then to the right, he finally turned in a full circle, his body following the struggle of jaw versus toffee. A tiny whimper sounded in his throat as he began to paw at his face.

After experiencing the briefest moment of incredulity, the laugh began low down with a tensing of his belly, before it rippled its way up through Arthur’s chest and into his shoulders. Biting his lip, he covered his mouth with one hand and tried to stifle the sound. However, he couldn’t quite stop the jerking and shaking as spasms of mirth began to rack his upper body. Finally he threw back his head and laughed loud and hard as Merlin shot him a wounded look while still pawing at the sides of his face.

A few seconds later, Merlin finally managed to wrench his teeth apart only for them to get stuck again a half-second after that. Tilting his head back, he began to bob like a chicken as he tried to work the mortar-like substance from between his teeth. Roaring even louder, Arthur sagged against the side of the stall and slid to the ground, helpless as paroxysms of laughter squeezed the air from his lungs and tears from his eyes.

Finally beginning to win the fight, Merlin ceased jerking his head, but continued to snap his teeth together then wrench them apart with an exaggerated clacking of jaws and a wide open mouth, lips carefully peeled back from his teeth as if avoiding further engagement with the sweet, sticky enemy. He sat down on the ground beside Arthur and a few minutes passed as Merlin continued to snap his jaws open and closed while Arthur continued to succumb to fits of giggling.

“Small bites, Merlin. You’re meant to enjoy it _slowly_.”

“You could have mentioned that to me before I ate it, you…you..d-dollop...dollophead!” 

They both froze as the last word fell from his lips. Merlin’s jaw dropped, his eyes popped, and he clapped his hands over his mouth as if to stop any other incriminating words from escaping it. Peering over his fingers he waited for Arthur’s reaction with horrified eyes.

Arthur felt his face blank for a moment, astonished by Merlin’s sudden cheek. However, instead of anger, he found himself flooded with appreciation. That Merlin felt comfortable enough with him to insult him was a twisted sort of compliment. Raising an eyebrow, he deliberately curled his lips up in a superior smirk.

“Dollop head? Really Merlin, that’s the best you could come up with? We shall have to work on your insults. I think I deserved at least a ‘rump-fed varlet’ for that little prank.”

Merlin slumped a little and took a deep breath before looking up between his eyelashes and flashing Arthur a tiny, crooked smile.

“How ‘bout if I called you a prat-faced treacher?”

“Better, much better! You’ll get there yet.”

Grinning now, the other boy shot back, “I’m a fast learner.”

Arthur chuckled and said, “I hope so! You’ve still a great deal to learn.” Then he sobered slightly and added, “And I’d like to be the one who teaches you. Will you let me do that, Merlin?”

Merlin’s sly grin transformed into a sunny, open smile as he nodded and Arthur caught his breath at the sheer beauty of it.

His expression spoke volumes but when they came, the words still sounded sweet. “I’d like that.”

Getting to his feet, Arthur suddenly became aware that they’d become the focus of many curious stares. Clearing his throat, he straightened his tunic and hauled Merlin upright once again.

“Al lright, this time, remember to take small bites! Now…” 

He pointed to the first row of sweetmeats. “That’s Gaylede, a fig dipped in honey then rolled in almonds. There’s also candied orange peels and citrons. And this row is all candied spices, see there’s ginger, and horseradish and anise, fennel and caraway. Over there are candied flowers. I think roses are the nicest but violets are quite good as well. Those are nuts coated in sugar, Gaius really likes the filberts but I think…”

“Do you ever think about your mother?”

Surprised by the question, Arthur turned to meet Merlin’s curiously shiny eyes. He wasn’t sure why Merlin was asking at this time, in this place, but he could see both pain and concern shining in those earnest blue eyes. So he gave Merlin a truth he would share with very few people.

“All the time. Do you think about yours?”

Downcast, Merlin replied, “I don’t remember my mother.”

“Nor I mine. She died before I opened my eyes. I barely know anything about her.”

“Can you ask your father?”

“He refuses to talk about her. I think it’s too painful for him. He tends to act as if she never existed.”

“No one would ever tell me anything, either…I learned…well…it was better not to ask.”

Merlin looked terribly sad and Arthur felt for him. He too had learned it was better not to ask anyone about his mother. Suddenly, Arthur found himself sharing something he’d never told anyone, “I have this...vague sense of her sometimes...almost as if she’s part of me.”

Merlin’s eyes lit up at that and he nodded, almost like he understood, as if Arthur’s ridiculous feelings were somehow comprehensible to him. 

When he said, “Sometimes I dream about my mother. Like, maybe it’s memory…or maybe not; there’s no one to tell me,” Arthur realized that maybe they were.

“I’d do anything for even the _vaguest_ memory,” Arthur mused aloud, aching for the mother he’d never been allowed to know, even through others.

Arthur was startled from his thoughts as warm fingers curved over his wrist before sliding down to twine with his own. Merlin didn’t say anything though, just smiled softly in understanding and gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze. Keeping Merlin’s hand in his, he gave it a squeeze in return, then turned back to the sweetmeats and continued his discourse on their varied properties. Having recovered from his tussle with the toffee, Merlin leaned over to examine each confection as Arthur described it for him.

The afternoon stretched on as they ate their way around the market and by the time they made it to Marnie’s stall to pick up the herbs for Gaius, Merlin had begun to moan and clutch at his belly.

“I don’t feel good.”

“I think we may have overdone the sweets a bit.” Biting his lip, Arthur groaned, “Gaius is going to kill me!”

The physician might not have any formal authority over the Prince of Camelot, but his disapproval, or worse his _disappointment_ , still had the power to reduce Arthur to a squirming mass of guilt.

“Look, let’s not mention it to Gaius, al lright? He’ll be angry that we spoiled our appetites and he’ll be absolutely livid that I let you eat so many sweets that you got sick off them. We’ll just…just try to eat some dinner and then excuse ourselves _really_ early, yeah?”

He thought Merlin looked a little dubious, but it might have just been a cramp.

When they finally presented themselves in Gaius’ chambers, Arthur’s smile was extra bright while Merlin’s seemed a bit strained. They’d agreed on the way home that Arthur should do the talking, so he half-stepped in front of Merlin as Gaius approached.

“Gaius! I met Merlin leaving your chambers and decided to show him the library!”

Wincing internally, Arthur realized at once that his tone of voice was a bit too bluff and hearty for the occasion. When he saw Gaius’ right eyebrow begin to creep upward, he knew the sharp old man had noticed.

“We…um…we rather lost track of time while we were there but we did go to the market afterwards. To get your herbs! Yes, we went for your herbs. All right here, the whole list!”

Cursing himself for being such a rotten actor, Arthur thrust the bag of herbs into Gaius’ hands while Merlin slumped down on a bench behind him, a barely audible groan falling from his lips. 

Again, Arthur placed himself between the physician and his charge, silently willing Merlin to suck it up and straighten his spine.

“So, uh, what’s for supper?” he said, again far too brightly.

“Mullet frose and buttered wortes*.” 

“Sounds delicious!”

The rising eyebrow slammed back down to meet its plummeting mate. Gaius’ lips thinned as he eyed the fidgeting prince. “You hate mullet.” His tone was flat.

“Well yes, but I’m sure Merlin will enjoy it.” Arthur turned and looked sternly at his sweating, pale-faced companion. “Won’t you _Merlin?_ ”

It was clear Merlin hadn’t even heard him. Having abandoned any semblance of normalcy, the dark-haired boy chose that very moment to clutch at his belly and moan…loudly. A few seconds later he leaned over the side of the bench and began to retch.

“What on earth? What’s wrong with him?” Gaius asked, his voice harsh with impatient concern as he rushed to Merlin’s side.

“Well, you see…it was his first time out on his own, and...I...uh…I wanted to celebrate a bit?”

Gaius turned an incredulous stare on him.

“You got him drunk?!”

“No! No, we didn’t touch a drop, I swear! You see we went to the library like I said, and then we went down to the market…and…I think he ate…too much.”

Turning his attention back to Merlin, Gaius touched the back of his hand to the boy’s sweaty forehead.

“What did you feed him?”

Arthur hesitated as he mentally tallied up the number of sweets that they’d indulged in that afternoon.

“Well there were the tartes…then the small cakes and the crysps, and some toffee, dragees , comfits and maybe a few custards? Look, we brought some back for you!” 

Swamped with guilt, Arthur held out the bag of sweets in a desperate bid to placate the old man. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.

“ _Arthur!_ How could you do that to him? He’s probably never touched a sweet in his entire life!”

Flinching, one eye going squinty as the whole right side of his face scrunched up, Arthur bit his lip and confirmed Gaius’ conjecture.

“No. No, he hadn’t.”

Gaius huffed impatiently and Arthur winced, hunching contritely as the old man lectured him.

“You can’t stuff him full of rich foods and expect him to be fine! There’s a reason they are called “rich”! Look at him! He’s been half-starved most of his life. His constitution simply cannot tolerate such things! Maybe one or two would have been…what on _earth_ possessed you?”

Arthur looked past Gaius’ shoulder to where Merlin was propped up against the wall. Having purged his overburdened stomach, the young man was clearly feeling better, for he managed a sheepish little one-shouldered shrug, as if to say, _Sorry, I tried!_ before flashing Arthur a heart-stopping grin like, _Oops, oh well! I still had fun!_

Seeing Merlin lolling there so happily, Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to feel _too_ guilty. He knew he probably shouldn’t have indulged Merlin’s _every_ whim, but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself when it kept a smile like that on Merlin’s face.

Nodding toward Merlin, Arthur watched as Gaius turned to look at the boy.

“That. Right there,” he said, eyes fixed on Merlin’s lovely lips. “That’s what possessed me. He just looked so happy…I…couldn’t resist.”

Shaking his head at Merlin’s gormless smile and Arthur’s dopey grin, Gaius said no more about it. He just set about dishing up a smaller supper than usual for the boys and if he indulged himself with an extra helping, neither Arthur nor Merlin would have dared say a word about it.

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The only part of the plan that Merlin followed was the going to bed early bit. After nibbling disinterestedly at his fish and finishing most of his vegetables, Merlin asked to be excused. Gaius sent him off with nothing more than a soft admonishment never to make such a pig of himself again. Subdued, Merlin had given Gaius the tiniest of nods before shuffling up the stairs to his room and softly closing the door behind him.

Arthur and Gaius finished their supper in silence. When they were done, Gaius began collecting their dishes from the table, but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I’ll take care of that Gaius, you go relax.”

Acknowledging the offer for what it was (an apology), Gaius settled in a chair by the fire, glasses perched on his nose, a small book cradled in his weathered hands. When he was finished cleaning the dishes, Arthur heaved a stack of books onto the table and started thumbing through them to determine which might be suitable to start Merlin’s education with. 

An hour later, Arthur had sorted the volumes into three short stacks, arranged in order of difficulty. He was reaching for yet another volume when Gaius cleared his throat and looked up from his book.

Pointedly looking over his shoulder at the closed door at the top of the stairs, Gaius said, “I’m worried about him.” He paused, but Arthur waited, knowing there was more to come.

“He’s…well, he’s completely cut off from his emotions. This isn’t the first time I’ve helped rehabilitate a former slave…but Merlin is different. He’s not just wary of his feelings, he seems downright terrified of them. It takes so little to upset him, and then he either becomes hysterical or he shuts down entirely.”

“I’ve been trying to help him, Gaius. You should have seen him today.”

“Stuffing him with toffee and custards? This is your plan to help him learn how to safely access his emotions?”

“Gaius, it made him _happy_. He couldn’t stop smiling. Don’t you see how irresistible that is? Honestly, I didn’t think it would make him ill. I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

Letting out a sigh, Gaius inclined his head, ceding the point. “The thing is, Arthur. _You_ seem to be the only one who can break through to him. He’ll speak to me, certainly, and he’ll ask questions but…he’s still so closed off. He’s bottled up so tightly, he doesn’t give…doesn’t show _anything_ …except fear and that’s not good.”

“I got him to _tease_ me today, Gaius.” Arthur smiled at Gaius’ surprise and described Merlin’s unfortunate run-in with a chunk of toffee. 

“…then he called me a dollophead for letting him shove the whole thing in his mouth! And earlier, when I took him to see the library! Oh Gaius, I’ve never seen _anyone_ react to a roomful of books like that. It was like I’d shown him Avalon itself!”

Sitting back, Gaius rested his elbows on the chair’s arms and raised his steepled fingers to his chin thoughtfully.

“The boy does seem interested in learning. Soaks up information like a sponge, and he’s got a very keen eye. Never misses a thing.”

“I want to teach him to read.”

Two silvered eyebrows shot up in unison.

“Arthur, that’s…that’s not as easy as it sounds. You learned to read as a child, it’s different-harder-to teach an older mind something like that.”

“He’s not _that_ old Gaius; he’s still just a boy. I mean, how old do you think he is? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“I know he looks young, Arthu,r but we can’t know anything for certain. He may not be quite as young as he appears.”

“Even so, Gaius; you just said he soaks up information quickly. I don’t think it will be as arduous a task as you seem to believe…and even if it is, I _still_ want to teach him.”

“It’s your time, Arthur. You can do with it what you will. Just promise me you’ll see it through? That you won’t get frustrated halfway through and leave him to his own devices if this doesn’t go smoothly?”

Offended, Arthur felt his lips tighten as he glared at his mentor.

“Gaius, when have I ever abandoned a task before finishing it? Do you really think so little of me? Am I so inconstant?”

Unperturbed, Gaius returned his glare with a steady gaze.

“You’ve never been responsible for another person’s well-being before, Arthur. It’s not like a physical challenge or a scientific experiment. You can’t beat him into submission and you can’t solve him like a puzzle. I just want you to understand what sort of undertaking this is.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure that he _couldn’t_ solve Merlin like a puzzle, but he understood the point Gaius was trying to make.

“I understand Gaius, and I am more than willing to see this commitment through. I _won’t_ abandon him.”

“All right, then. Tell me how you mean to begin.”

Dragging a bench alongside Gaius’ chair, Arthur fetched the shortest stack of books from the table and settled down beside him.

“I figured I’d start with something simple…”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

With nothing official scheduled for the following morning, Arthur presented himself in Gaius’ workroom immediately after he broke his fast. (He could have arrived in time to share the physician’s morning meal but he’d never been all that fond of Gaius’ watery porridge.) He wasn’t surprised to find the Court Physician had already risen and had his own breakfast, but he was a bit surprised to discover that Merlin was still abed.

“He was up in the middle of the night with a sour stomach,” Gaius related, one eyebrow raised in Arthur’s direction. “I thought I’d let him have a bit of a lie in this morning.”

Arthur winced, guilt washing through him. He felt bad that his idea for an impromptu celebration had made Merlin suffer so badly.

“I’m really sorry, Gaius. That wasn’t well done of me.”

“I know you meant well, Arthur, just be…careful with him, please? He’s made remarkable progress, but he is still quite fragile.”

“You really like him, don’t you Gaius?”

“I do. He’s a good boy and he’s been through trials that would have crushed a lesser man. That he’s managed to retain such a kind and loving heart is nothing short of astonishing.”

“I know, he’s so…well, he’s very _sweet._ I just can’t understand how anyone would want to hurt someone like him.”

“You must never forget, Arthur, that some of the world’s most terrible monsters are _men_.”

About to respond, Arthur was forestalled by an urgent pounding on the door. A moment later, a frantic man dressed in humble homespun burst through the door and made straight for Gaius. The commotion had Arthur reflexively reaching for the sword at his hip, but he aborted the motion when he noted that the man’s hands were empty and his expression spoke more of fear than aggression.

Clutching at Gaius’ arm, the agitated man began babbling about a neighbor, a child, and an accident. As Gaius spoke with the man, attempting to both calm and question him, Arthur was already moving to prepare Gaius’ medicine bag with the essentials he would need. Listening to the conversation as closely as the physician, Arthur gathered bandages, silk thread, and needles, as well as honey, mint and yarrow for any open wounds Gaius might be treating. He stuffed a canvas bag with splints and binding cloths for broken bones and when he heard there was a possible head injury, he hunted down the physician’s magnifying glass and slipped that in the bag as well (knowing that with his failing eyesight, Gaius might need the glass to search for tiny cracks or fissures in the victim’s skull).

By the time Gaius was satisfied he had all the information the man had to give, Arthur had carefully readied both bags and was holding out the plain, brown canvas smock the physician often wore over his robes to protect them from the messier aspects of his job.

“Thank you, my boy; I’m grateful for the help. Your presence here this morning was most fortunate, indeed.”

Arthur smiled fondly at the old man and nodded his assent when Gaius asked, “Look after Merlin for me, would you?” as he followed the anxious townsman from the room.

He gathered up the used bowl from the table but left the empty for Merlin. A small pot hung over the low fire, and Arthur gave the sluggishly bubbling porridge a quick stir to keep it from sticking. With Merlin still abed and Gaius gone for who-knew how long, Arthur cast about for something to occupy his time. Knowing Gaius as he did, he was aware that the physician usually created for himself a list of tasks to be accomplished by day’s end. After a few moments of searching, he found the scrap of vellum on one of the workbenches beside an empty cauldron and a pile of white willow bark.

There were several chores on the list that Arthur knew he could easily accomplish in the physician’s absence, so he set about easing some of the burden from his mentor’s shoulders while he waited for Merlin to rise for the day.

He spent the next hour or so cleaning, sorting, and chopping the willow bark as he readied it to make a tincture Gaius routinely used for the treatment of fevers and aching joints. The simple, soothing task and peaceful morning solitude afforded the Prince room for thought, and as seemed more and more common of late, Arthur found his thoughts drifting to Merlin.

In moments like these, when he had time and leisure to let his thoughts wander, it was all right to find himself so preoccupied. However, he’d begun to find himself distracted by his Merlin-centric thoughts at some terribly inappropriate (not to mention inconvenient) times. Why just the day before during afternoon drills with Sir Urien, one of the new recruits had been questioning the rationale behind the counter attack he was learning and Arthur had drifted off, picturing the way Merlin would tilt his head to the side whenever he was confused. He was abruptly jerked from his reverie when the knight he’d been sparring with had taken advantage of Arthur’s woolgathering to score a sound blow against his unprotected flank. Focusing back on the task at hand, he’d been able to beat Sir Dagonet back easily enough, but his bruised ribs remained an aching reminder of his folly.

There had also been a rather humiliating incident two days before. During his weekly breakfast with the king, in the midst of yet another royal lecture on a prince’s duty to crown and kingdom, Arthur had drifted off into a lovely daydream involving Merlin, a jar of warm, spring honey, and a secluded lakeside setting. Reprimanded by the King for his faltering attention, Arthur had found it necessary to shift the tablecloth to better cover his lap, lest his father catch a glimpse of just how _distracted_ Arthur truly was.

While Arthur’s increasing preoccupation was proving a bit…troublesome, it wasn’t as if he was _mooning_ over the dark-haired boy; that would just be _undignified_. However, he had to admit, if only to himself, that he found himself drawn to Merlin in a way he’d never been to _anyone_ before.

It wasn’t as if Arthur was innocent of carnal relations. He’d been initiated to the company of men at age fifteen by the knight he’d been squiring for, and a few months after that, he’d earned his first knowledge of women thanks to a discreet, young widow with a house in the upper town. Since then, while Arthur hadn’t exactly been plowing every field in Camelot, he certainly hadn’t been denying his basic needs.

Nor was he a stranger to more tender emotions--he’d really thought Lady Selena was _it_ for hmi. He’d been morose for weeks after his father had decided against the alliance with her father. Then, this past winter, there had been Sir Ewan. Arthur had really thought he was falling for the gentle young knight. However, when Ewan had been called home with the first thaw, though Arthur had been terribly sad for the loss of his companionship, he’d found he wasn’t truly as devastated as he thought he’d be.

But Merlin…Merlin was different.

Arthur had never met anyone who made him feel the way Merlin did. It was bewildering mix of emotions: affection and desire, curiosity and longing, frustration and fascination. And, it also wasn’t just _what_ he was feeling but _how_ he was feeling it. Everything he felt for Merlin just seemed like… _more_. Every emotion was deeper, hotter, harder…more intense… _all-consuming_. When Arthur thought about everone who’d come before Merlin, it was like the difference between a lit candle and the sun.

He felt a fierce protectiveness that sometimes bordered on the possessive. There were times when Arthur found himself wanting to wrap Merlin in his arms, hide him away and keep him safe from the rest of the world. The thought of anyone hurting Merlin made him burn, and the rage he felt toward the people who’d already hurt Merlin was frightening in its intensity. The way they’d found him in the woods…if Arthur _ever_ got his hands on the man who’d done that…

Though, however strong his urge to protect the younger boy might be, Arthur recognized Merlin’s amazing strength and resilience. If Gaius was right in his conclusions, Merlin had lived most of his life in an unimaginable hell. To have come through all that and still remain as sweet and essentially trusting as Merlin was showed amazing courage and fortitude.

Then again, as much as he admired Merlin, sometimes Arthur found him as frustrating as he was fascinating. He could be surprisingly stubborn at times, folding in on himself and refusing to budge when he felt strongly about something. He _still_ refused to talk about his past. Arthur wanted to know who’d enslaved him and where he’d been held. Having found Merlin so close to a major slave-trading route, Arthur suspected Merlin might have some very useful information locked up inside his head. However, he wasn’t sharing, and Arthur didn’t have the heart to truly push him. He’d already been through enough.

Truth be told, Arthur found Merlin’s stubborn streak just as appealing as everything else about the boy. By turns shy and inquisitive, elusive and forthright, apprehensive and fearless, the only thing truly predictable about Merlin was that he was unlikely to react to any given situation the same way most other people would. And that made Arthur’s increasing attachment to him…problematic. He knew Merlin liked him, but he wasn’t at all sure if Merlin was _attracted_ to him, or indeed, given what he’d lived through, if Merlin would _ever_ want anything more than friendship…from anyone.

While Arthur…Arthur had never wanted _anyone_ as badly as he wanted Merlin.

It wasn’t just because Merlin was beautiful, though he certainly was (and growing more so by the day as his health improved; gaining weight, strength, and vitality under Gaius’ watchful eye and careful tending). Like everything else about Merlin, there was something _more_ to the attraction, something elusive about Merlin himself, something that Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a powerful connection from the moment Arthur had laid eyes on him that the prince had never felt with anyone before. Arthur had never put much stock in fate, but if he had…he could almost believe that he and Merlin had somehow been _meant_ to meet, however unlikely the circumstances of that meeting had been.

Lost in thought, Arthur continued to work, and was just immersing the willow bark in a large jar of aqua vitae when he heard the rattle of a door latch. He looked up to see Merlin emerge from his room in a rumpled sleep shirt and old trousers. Stumbling down the stairs, mouth stretched wide in a sleepy yawn, the long fingers of one hand rubbed tiredly at his eyes as he scratched the back of his head with the other. Arthur felt himself melting at the sight. Merlin’s face was still sleep-flushed and pink, his soft, dark hair stood up in spikey tufts all over his head and a pillow-line creased in the skin across the high arch of one cheekbone. After the yawn, he smacked his lips a few times and peered around the room when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Gaius?”

“He was called out for an emergency in the lower town.”

“Oh.” Still looking adorably fuddled, he blinked rapidly for a moment before seeming to focus on Arthur’s face. Merlin looked at him blankly for a few seconds before a bright smile sprang up on his lips.

“Hi, Arthur!”

“Hello.”

“You’re early!” He sounded pleased, “You don’t usually come ‘til after dinner.”

He started toward Arthur then jerked to a stop and exclaimed, “Oh! I forgot!” before bending both knees and bobbing up and down. Then he bent forward at the waist and popped straight back up after half a second like some kind of bizarre jack-in-the-box. He beamed at Arthur as he came back to an upright position.

Arthur knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t seem to lift his jaw so astonished was he by the bizarre display.

“Did I do it right?” Merlin asked, suddenly anxious.

Smiling incredulously, Arthur asked, “Do what right?”

“The bouncing.”

Merlin gave another little bounce from the knees and Arthur felt a giggle bubbling up from somewhere high in his chest. “The bouncing?”

Nodding vigorously, Merlin clarified, “Like the people yesterday? To respect you?”

It was a few seconds before Arthur realized what Merlin was talking about, and suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Merlin, I…you don’t have to do that.” He looked down and stuffed the last few scraps of bark into the jar. “Actually…I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

The other boy drew near, settling on a bench on the other side of the table from Arthur.

“Why not? I respect you, too.”

“Because you…and Gaius, well, you’re different. You _know_ me. Those people, _most people_ , they look at me and all they see is the Prince of Camelot,” Arthur replied, his tone dull.

Elbows on the table between them, unwavering eyes fixed on Arthur, Merlin leaned in close to ask, “But…aren’t you the Prince of Camelot?”

“Yes, but that’s just _what_ I am, it’s not _who_ I am. I don’t want…I mean…I like that you…” he floundered to a halt. Never comfortable with sharing his emotions, it was difficult to articulate for Merlin how he felt about this. “When you look at me, you see _me_ , Arthur.” He tapped his chest softly for emphasis. “You see the man I am, and I don’t…I don’t want that to change.”

Lifting his eyes he met Merlin’s gaze head on. “Do you understand?”

As so often was the case with Merlin, he didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached across the table to curl his hand around Arthur’s. Threading his long fingers through Arthur’s stained and sticky ones, he gave them a gentle squeeze and nodded.

“Don’t worry. I could never look at you and not see Arthur.”

Overwhelmed by a rush of warm affection, Arthur squeezed back and smiled into Merlin’s eyes, all uncertainty banished by the acceptance he saw there. They stayed that way for several seconds before the moment was broken by the sound of voices passing in the corridor outside. Reluctantly, Arthur freed his fingers from Merlin’s, and feeling a bit self-conscious, he bustled about, making a bit of a production out of sealing a lid on the jar of steeping willow.

Taking back his hand, Merlin rubbed some of the stickiness he’d picked up from Arthur’s hand between his fingers. He gave his fingers a sniff and there was a curious ripple across his expressive features.

“This smells…it smells like…” his soft mouth tensed and his brow wrinkled in visible effort. “I _know_ this smell, but...I don’t…I don’t know...”

His eyes were glistening and wide with distress when he lifted them to Arthur’s.

“Why can’t I remember?”

Shrugging helplessly, it was Arthur’s turn to shake his head in silence. He didn’t know why Merlin couldn’t remember, but he hated seeing him upset. Casting around for some kind of distraction, his eyes fell on Giaus’ list. Perfect. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“Here, Gaius’ left a list of chores for the day. Want to help me with a few?”

Allowing himself to be distracted, Merlin came to join Arthur on his side of the work table and they spent the next few hours working side by side. Most of Gaius’ list consisted of very basic, routine work. There were fresh herbs to chop, dried herbs to grind, plants to bundle and hang for drying, several more tinctures to prepare and two simple decoctions to brew.

Merlin took to all the work with an enthusiasm that tickled Arthur. The other boy was just so excited by every task, no matter how mundane or monotonous. He sniffed every plant and tasted all the ones Arthur told him were safe, his features twisting comically whenever a particularly strong or noisome flavour touched his tongue. He fingered every leaf, flower, stem, and stalk, and examined every twisty root and gnarly rhizome with a keen, observant eye. He tested the limits of Arthur’s knowledge with his questions and challenged his skill with soft-voiced requests for demonstrations.

Though he’d always enjoyed herbcraft, Arthur had never had so much _fun_ with it before. Seeing everything through Merlin’s innocent and eager eyes made it all new and exciting. When he heard the noon bell ring, Arthur was genuinely disappointed to bring the morning’s session to an end. He _had_ to attend afternoon training but before he went, he sat Merlin down, placed the first book from Arthur’s carefully prepared list in his hands, and asked,

“I want to teach you to read. Will you let me?”

At first, he thought he’d upset Merlin for the boy’s plump lower lip parted company with its mate and just hung there, low and quivering for a long, horrible moment. Then that lip moved and had Arthur not been watching it, he wouldn’t have understood the breathy, almost inaudible words that followed.

“Me? Read? I don’t…”

Merlin looked down at the book in his hands, and when Arthur followed his gaze, he could see that Merlin was shaking. Reaching out to cover one trembling hand with his own, Arthur said, “Yes, but only if you want to.”

Blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, Merlin rasped, “Do you really think I can? _Me?_ ”

Reaching out to brush an errant lock of hair back from where it fell when Merlin had ducked his head again, Arthur cupped his hand over Merlin’s cheek and smiled softly.

“I know you can.”

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Marnie still made Merlin nervous, so as they approached the herb-seller’s stall, Gaius gave him a few coins and sent him off into the market with a little push and an admonishment, “Don’t go _too_ far, all right?”

Nodding vigorously, Merlin wandered off with a happy little smile and Gaius approached Marnie’s stall, even more intent on gathering the latest gossip than he was on buying the items on his shopping list.

Having finished relating the tale of the suckling pig and Jemmy Thatcher’s wedding feast, Marnie was moving on to the latest scandalous incident in Widow Barcer’s ongoing late night escapades when an angry shout drew Gaius’ attention away.

Two men crashed through the fishmonger’s stall and out into the square with swords drawn. Headless fish flew everywhere as the angry men lunged and slashed while shouted insults at each other. Jumping away from his opponent’s wild swing, one of the men tumbled through the wineseller’s lean-to and disappeared from sight. His fellow combatant followed with a strangled shout.

Concerned, Gaius looked around trying to locate Merlin in the crowd. The boy was tall enough that he should have been easily visible were he nearby, but look as he might, Gaius couldn’t locate the familiar mop of unruly black hair. Worried, he called for Merlin several times, becoming more and more alarmed with each unanswered call.

Abandoning his purchases to Marnie’s watchful eye, Gaius quickly made his way through the crowd calling Merlin’s name. Meanwhile several patrons from the wineseller’s stall, angry that their intended purchases had been trampled in the dirt, were joining in the brawl and the situation soon escalated into a small riot.

Frantic now, imagining poor Merlin petrified and shaking, hiding under a counter somewhere or worse, trampled under the feet of fleeing townsmen, Gaius elbowed his way through the crowd yelling Merlin’s name at the top of his lungs. The city watch had finally arrived and begun collaring the combatants when Merlin finally wandered into view. Seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him, he weaved through the crowd toward Gaius with a happy little grin on his face.

“Look, Gaius! Peaches!” he said holding up his hands, four of the fuzzy fruits clutched in his long fingers.

When Gaius threw his arms around the boy and pulled him into a relieved hug, Merlin simply squeezed him back, his sunny smile never faltering.

Hours later, as Merlin stood stirring a cauldron over the fire in the front room, Gaius pulled a stool close by and settled down upon it with a thoughtful frown on his face. Merlin’s reaction to the fight in the square had puzzled him. As fearful as the boy had been when he’d come to them, Gaus had expected Merlin to be _terrified_ by the unrest in the market today. That he was completely unaffected by it, seemed not even to _notice_ the deadly fight around him…well, that left Gaius with even more questions than he’d had before. 

“Merlin?”

“Mmm?” Merlin hummed but didn’t look up from the stew in the pot, dipping up a spoonful to taste as Gaius took a deep breath before he continued delicately, “What happened today, in the square…when those men were fighting? You knew there was a fight going on, right?”

“Mmhm.” Merlin nodded as he added a pinch of salt to the stew.

“You knew they had weapons, right? That people could get hurt?”

Again Merlin nodded his understanding, stirring a handful of fresh thyme into the pot.

“But you weren’t frightened,” Gaius observed.

Shaking his head side to side, Merlin dipped his spoon into the stew and tasted it again, smiling to himself at the result.

“Most people, well…most people would have been at least _a bit_ worried close to a fight like that.”

“They weren’t after _me_ ,” Merlin said matter-of-factly.

“All right.”

Frustrated by Merlin’s curious lack of interest in a potentially deadly situation, Gaius had to wonder once again exactly _what_ had been done to this boy to make him such a strange contrast of sweet, eager, childlike innocence in ordinary situations and detached, cold-blooded indifference when faced with brutal, bloody conflict.

“You know how I said I wouldn’t ask you any questions you weren’t ready to answer…”

“Mmhmm,” Merlin acknowledged, tearing a large loaf of fresh bread into smaller chunks.

“Well, I actually have a few questions, and I would greatly appreciate it if you’d answer a few of them.”

“All right.”

“When we found you in the woods, you were badly injured, with that wound to your head and the burn on your chest. Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

“I asked for a book.”

“You asked for a book?” Gaius repeated incredulously.

Merlin nodded. 

“Who did you ask for a book?”

“Papa.”

Astonished, Gaius blurted out, “Wait, who?”

 _Good Gods, he couldn’t mean…_ Balinor _, could he? Was it possible he’d found Merlin and…no, he couldn’t have…no, it wasn’t possible…not the Balinor Gaius knew._

“My Papa.” Merlin repeated.

“Your _father_? You told me you didn’t have any family!”

“I don’t.”

“But you just said your Papa...”

“He died.”

“Merlin,” Gaius waited for Merlin to make eye contact, but the boy just kept stirring the pot. Gaius took him by the shoulder and gently turned him until their eyes met. “Merlin, who was your papa? What was he called?”

“His name was Kanen.”

Continuing to appear unaffected, Merlin held up a spoonful of steaming stew. “Here, try this. Did I make it right?”

Head ringing with the name of one of the most notorious brigands in all the five kingdoms, Gaius tasted the stew and absently smiled his approval. Merlin squeaked happily and went to fetch two bowls.

 _Kanen! Graces defend!_ It was no wonder the poor boy was such a bewildering mass of contradictions!


	8. Chapter 7

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Happily labouring over a passage in the latest book Arthur had given him to read, Merlin was so absorbed in it, he never even noticed the soft tread of approaching feet on the stairs outside his room. Therefore, the sudden clearing of a throat nearby took him completely by surprise. Instantly tensed for flight, Merlin relaxed just as quickly when he recognized the broad-shouldered figure filling his doorway. Enjoying the warmth that always curled in his belly whenever Arthur appeared, Merlin couldn’t help but smile at his unexpected visitor.

“Arthur!”

The prince returned the cheery smile and Merlin felt the warmth in his belly spread to fill his entire being. Merlin basked in the feeling. Arthur was possessed of such a bright inner light that for Merlin, being with him was like lying on a warm patch of sand on a sunny day. Merlin didn’t think he could ever get enough of the feeling.

“I brought you another book.” Arthur held up a small, slim volume. “I think you’ll find this one interesting, as it focuses on the plants you were asking about the other day.”

Setting aside the book in his lap, Merlin reached eagerly for the one Arthur held out. He flipped through a few pages before coming upon the illustration of a familiar yellow-centered white flower. It was easy to recognize the letters that spelled out the name f-e-v-e-r-f-e-w. Glancing back to Arthur with a smile, Merlin paused at the strange expression he observed on the prince’s face. Tilting his head to the side, Merlin felt his own face scrunch in puzzlement.

“What is it?”

“Merlin…you knew that flower, knew what it was used for. It’s not common around these parts...but _you_ knew it. Same thing with the one you called ‘the sleep flower’. Here,” he said reaching for the book, thumbing through the pages until he came to the illustration of another white flower. “See? Chamomile. It _is_ used to help induce sleep. And remember the willow? You seemed to recognize it, or at least the smell of the bark.”

Pleased that he’d been right about the two flowers, it took Merlin several moments to realize that Arthur _didn’t_ seem pleased, he seemed…troubled. Merlin shook his head back and forth in wordless inquiry.

“Now, the willow and the chamomile, I’ll grant, are common enough...but the feverfew _isn’t_. How would you know it?”

Merlin tried to think. Why _did_ he know that? He couldn’t remember anyone ever talking about it. Healing and herblore certainly weren’t topics for discussion around the fire in Kanen’s camp. And Merlin hadn’t had time to specifically discuss much of anything with the old apothecary he’d run into back in Dunpelder. How _did_ he know about the fever and sleep flowers?

“Someone had to teach you that, Merlin.”

Mildly disturbed by his inability to remember, Merlin shook his head again, this time in negation.

“You don’t remember who it was, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, clearly there was _someone_ …someone in your old life. Maybe…maybe it was before you were made a slave?”

“I’m not a slave!” Merlin was indignant.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, reaching up to brush the tips of his fingers over Merlin’s collar, “I’m sorry, but this says otherwise.”

“He…I…I wasn’t a _slave_.”

“What were you, then?”

 _What was he? He…he was…_ He tried to think.

“Do you remember your life before you came to Camelot?”

He started to nod but stopped after a single bob of the head. He’d _thought_ he remembered his entire life, but it was becoming clear to Merlin that there must be some pieces missing. Papa had been his world; his life in the bandit camp all Merlin knew. Had there ever been more in his life? Was there anything _before_ Papa? Merlin tried to remember.

His first memories were of the collar… _fighting_ the collar. He’d fought the collar and Papa had hurt him for it. He hadn’t wanted to wear it at first; Papa had _made_ Merlin wear it. But, that was the way it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? Merlin had been bad, had disobeyed. The memory of pain and Papa’s words was clear, _”A master commands and a dog obeys.”_ A dog that didn’t obey would be punished, as he had been punished. Merlin wasn’t a slave, he was… _”…a dog, Merlin. You’re_ my _dog!_ ”

“Not a slave.”

“What, then?”

Dropping his head, Merlin drew up his legs and curled in on himself in shame.

“A dog…a _bad_ dog.”

“Oh Merlin, no!” Arthur reached out to curl a hand around Merlin’s shoulder. Pressing gently, he wordlessly urged Merlin upright. “Who told you that?”

“My papa. He said..I was _his_ …his dog.”

“And you wore this because a dog wears a collar?”

Merlin nodded in misery. Now Arthur knew, knew what Merlin really was. There’d be no more lessons, no more books. Arthur wouldn’t teach _a dog_ to read, the notion was ridiculous. The whole situation was already absurd. Arthur was the _Prince of Camelot_ and Merlin was…Merlin was _nothing_.

“Oh Merlin, Gods, I can’t…I’m so sorry.”

Arthur’s sounded funny, like he was choking or having trouble breathing. Merlin looked up, concerned, and was shocked to find Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes filled with tears.

“You’re not a dog, Merlin. You’re a man, a wonderfully _brave_ man.” Suddenly Arthur’s features went sharp, his voice growing fierce as he growled. “And you shouldn’t be collared like some mindless beast!”

Face intent, he reached for Merlin’s collar, his fingers scrabbling over the clasp. Merlin exploded with panic. _He couldn’t! Merlin couldn’t let him! No!_ Grabbing Arthur’s wrist in a crushing grip, he pulled the prince’s hand away and held on tight. For several long moments they remained frozen in place, Arthur’s arm stretched out between them, wrist and hand clamped tight in Merlin’s terrified hands.

His heart was pounding so hard, Merlin feared it might beat right out of his chest. He couldn’t, he couldn’t let the collar come off. He _was_ a beast, at least he was without the collar to contain him. Arthur didn’t _know_ , he didn’t know what Merlin was capable of. He was a savage killer, a rabid dog. The collar kept him safe, kept everyone safe. Merlin didn’t know what would happen if he let Arthur take the collar off. He might lose control, might hurt Arthur before he could stop himself, might even _kill_ him.

“Merlin, please. Please let me. I _hate_ seeing that thing around your neck. I _hate_ that you think you need to wear it. You don’t. You aren’t a slave; you aren’t _a dog_ and I hate that anyone ever treated you as either.”

[ ](http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/f/1/f1c6a7db5030feea68579f2a7eb2e064-d6knjd1.jpg)

Merlin wanted so badly to believe him, wanted Arthur’s words to be true. Gaze flickering back and forth between pleading blue eyes and the sturdy wrist held steady in his hands, Merlin felt himself waver.

“You don’t _need_ this anymore, Merlin. It’s time to leave the bad dog behind and embrace life as the good man I know you are.”

He was scared, so scared of what he became whenever Papa took his collar off. He hated that part of himself, hated the beast inside, hated what Papa made him do whenever the beast was unleashed. But…Papa wasn’t here anymore. _Arthur_ was, and looking deep into his eyes, Merlin could see that Arthur believed in him.

“Please.”

Maybe Arthur was right, maybe Merlin _could_ do this, could control the beast. Gaius had said much the same thing, had said it was Merlin’s choice now. Merlin could decide for himself how to use his power, He didn’t have to be the animal Papa’d always told him he was. 

“Let me.”

Biting his lip, Merlin began to loosen his grip. Arthur thought him a good man, and Merlin wanted that. More than anything, Merlin wanted to be a man, _a good man_. A good man didn’t need to be collared like a dog…and neither did Merlin.

Letting his hands fall away, Merlin nodded once and tried not to flinch when Arthur leaned forward and carefully thumbed open the latch that held the collar closed. He held his breath as Arthur gently peeled away the heavy band of leather and iron and…nothing happened.

Just as it did whenever Merlin loosened the collar’s clasp, magic simmered up from his core and settled just under the surface of his skin, but…that was all. There was no explosion of rage or violence, nor was Merlin suddenly seized by the need to kill or maim. As his magic flowed free and unfettered, all Merlin felt was…warm.

The warmth quickly turned to heat as Arthur leaned in close, and stroked the newly exposed skin of Merlin’s neck with gentle fingers. Never having felt anything like this tender caress, Merlin let his eyes drift closed, shutting out vision in order to heighten his perception of Arthur’s touch. A moment later, he felt another touch, soft and moist, and realized that Arthur had pressed his lips to the scarred skin of Merlin’s throat in the sweetest caress of all: a kiss. His breath caught and his heart thrummed. Blood was rushing through his ears and his skin was tingling all over. A gasp escaped Merlin’s lips and then he found himself leaning in to Arthur’s touch with a helpless little moan.

Immediately, the kiss changed from a simple press of the lips to gentle mouthing and a series of little licks and tiny nibbles. Arthur lay a fiery trail of delicious little kisses up the long length of Merlin’s neck, over the edge of his jaw and across his cheek finally reaching the corner of Merlin’s mouth. He paused a moment there, as if to gauge Merlin’s willingness to continue. Utterly willing, Merlin parted his lips and whimpered softly in a wordless plea for more.

Arthur obliged with a groan, his hands coming up to frame Merlin’s face as he brought their lips together. At first, he just pressed his mouth to Merlin’s, soft skin on skin rubbing gently and breathing the air from Merlin’s lungs. Then Merlin dared to swipe his tongue over Arthur’s bottom lip, and again the kiss changed in an instant. Hot and wet, Arthur parted his lips wide and slipped his tongue into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin met Arthur’s tongue with his own, reveling in the slick sliding of flesh. Merlin leaned forward and settled his hands around Arthur’s waist. The prince shuddered, then pulled back slightly.

“Merlin,” he gasped into Merlin’s mouth. “I don’t want…to hurt…I don’t want to hurt you. You tell me to stop and I’ll stop. All right?” Feathering a line of kisses over the high arch of Merlin’s cheekbone, he asked, “Are you all right? Do you want me to stop?”

Nodding then shaking his head in turn, Merlin chased after Arthur’s mouth. “Don’t stop. Please?” Finding the coveted lips, Merlin pressed his plea against them. “Please don’t stop. Never…never been kissed…mmm…feels so good. Never stop.”

Arthur granted his wish, licking into Merlin’s mouth again and fusing their lips together once more. Merlin’s head began to spin, but it was a delicious sort of dizzy. He’d never been drunk before, but he imagined it might feel something like this. Heat rushed in his veins and prickled over his skin and, as close as he was pressed to Arthur, Merlin had the overwhelming urge to get closer still. Sliding his hands higher, he slipped his arms around Arthur’s back and pulled the prince tight against him. Arthur groaned once--a long low moan--before finally breaking the kiss and burying his face in the curve of Merlin’s neck.

“Merlin...Merlin we have to stop. I can’t…we have to stop, all right?”

Thinking he’d done something wrong, Merlin pulled away and scooted back on the bed. Suddenly miserable, he pulled his knees into his chest and hugged his legs.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Merlin...please. It’s not that I _want_ to stop; it’s because I _don’t_ want to stop that we have to.”

Puzzled, Merlin studied Arthur closely, trying to understand what he wasn’t saying. The prince’s face was flushed. Actually, he seemed flushed all over, colour suffusing his neck and chest as well as his face. His chest was heaving, his mouth open and working hard for breath. The pupils of his bright, blue eyes were blown wide and dark and his lashes were spikey with moisture. Tiny beads of sweat rimmed his forehead and his golden fringe was plastered flat and dark with perspiration. He looked…he looked wrecked actually and Merlin found himself reaching for him with concern.

“Are _you_ all right? You keep asking if I am, but you look like you’ve just been for a run in the summer sun!”

Arthur smiled and reached up to comb his fingers through the damp hair of Merlin’s fringe. It was only then that Merlin realized he was just as sweaty, hot, and flushed as Arthur. When had that happened?

“I’m fine, Merlin. More than fine, in fact. But you…I know you’ve been through so much and I want…I don’t want to go too fast. I don’t want you to do anything, or _let me_ do anything that you’ll regret later.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, Merlin, and that’s why we need to stop. You _need_ to understand…to understand how I feel, to understand what’s happening between us before it goes too far. You need to figure out what _you_ want before we do anything else and if we don’t stop now, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to stop later.”

“I…did I do something wrong?”

“No! God no, Merlin...you, you’re perfect!”

“Do you…did you not want to kiss me?”

“Oh Merlin, I wanted to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

“Then, I don’t understand. Why do we have to stop?”

“Because kissing leads...it leads to other things, Merlin. Things that I don’t think you and I are ready for yet.”

Merlin tilted in head to the side and regarded Arthur in puzzlement.

‘Things…you mean like…” Merlin trailed off unsure how to verbalize what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

He knew that kissing led to other things…things like the hardness between his legs, and the desire he felt to rub himself all over the prince until he spilled himself over Arthur’s skin. The sort of things that only Papa had ever done to Merlin, things that sometimes made Merlin cringe in disgust when Papa did them to him, but that Merlin had seen other people do to each other and enjoy. Things Merlin did for Papa because he _had to_ , but that he _wanted_ to do for Arthur because he... _liked_ him.

Dropping his eyes, Merlin could see that he wasn’t the only one that was hard between the legs. He felt his face heat. Sometimes words could be so hard for Merlin, but actions were easier. He reached out and rubbed his hand over Arthur’s bulge.

“Things like this?”

Arthur gasped and shuddered, but then brought his hands up to gently clasp Merlin’s wrist and pull his hand away.

“No! I mean, yes, things like that, Merlin. But we can’t.”

“You…you don’t want those things?”

Arthur’s mouth twisted wryly.

“Oh Merlin, of course I do.”

Brows drawn together, lips pursed, Merlin regarded Arthur for a moment, confusion writ large on his face.

“But…that’s what I’m _for_.”

Arthur pulled away with a startled jerk, his eyes wide, mouth falling open in a surprised “O”. He looked appalled. Thinking Arthur must have misunderstood, Merlin rushed to clarify. Coming up on his knees, he reached for Arthur’s hand.

“If you want...things, I _do things_.”

Warming to his theme, eager to reassure Arthur of his willingness, of his _usefulness _, Merlin blurted out, “Arthur, whatever you want, I can do! _We_ can do! _All_ the things! I can do that for you!”__

__As he spoke, Merlin dropped Arthur’s hand and fumbled for his breeches, eager to show Arthur, to prove himself._ _

__“Papa showed me...he showed me everything!”_ _

__“Oh god, Merlin, no! Please, no!”_ _

__Arthur had Merlin’s hands in a tight grip, was yanking them away from his crotch as he spoke, his voice hoarse. He looked like he was about to be sick._ _

__“What’s wrong? Arthur?”_ _

__Shaking his head back in forth in disbelief, Arthur released Merlin’s hands. His beautiful eyes were wide and glassy, welling with moisture, as he murmured, “Gods…you don’t even know do you?”_ _

__“Arthur?”_ _

__So confused he didn’t know what to do, but desperate not to upset Arthur any more, Merlin fell back on his training. Sinking back on his heels, he cast his eyes down and folded his arms behind his back. But, somehow, the submissive posture just seemed to agitate Arthur even more._ _

__“Don’t! Merlin don’t,” he said, voice curiously pleading as he took each of Merlin’s arms in a gentle grip and pulled them forward again. “Don’t _kneel_ like that. I told you; you aren’t a slave anymore.”_ _

__More frustrated and confused than ever, Merlin snapped, “And I told you I never _was_ a slave!”_ _

__“Could you say no?”_ _

__Eyes snapping up at the sudden aggressive note in Arthur’s voice, Merlin met his gaze and saw the challenge there._ _

__“Could I say no to what?”_ _

__“To anything? Could you ever say no to your Papa? If you didn’t want to do something, did you have to do it anyway? Or could you refuse?”_ _

__“I…he…”_ _

___Tiny, blood-slick hands scrabbling for purchase on the sharp edge of the metal collar cutting into his throat…burning brands thrust between the bars of the too-small cage…Papa yelling, Papa hurting him because he said “No”…_ _ _

__Merlin shook his head, muttered, “I wasn’t a slave…I wasn’t…”_ _

___Kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks…gagging on Papa as his throat is filled..fighting as he’s pulled forward, Papa’s hands yanking on his ears…head whipping side to side as Papa slaps him for struggling…_ _ _

__“Merlin, I _saw_ what he did to you. I treated the wounds. Tell me you could have said no to that.”_ _

___Angry shouting…Papa shoving him down in the dirt...pain exploding between his legs as Papa kicks him…teeth tearing at his skin…searing agony as Papa forces himself inside without preparing him…hard hands crushing his throat...the knifing pain deep in his core…the taste of blood on torn lips..._ _ _

__“…Merlin! I’m sorry, Merlin please, I’m sorry! Come back, come back to me.”_ _

__Bent double, tears streaming down his cheeks, Merlin came back to the present with a shudder. Trembling all over, he found himself gathered close and held tight in Arthur’s well-muscled arms. He pressed his face against Arthur’s chest, and struggled to stop his tears from soaking the prince’s shirt. Arthur kept murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” against Merlin’s hair while his big hands rubbed soothing circles on Merlin’s back. Sniffling, he snuggled further into Arthur’s embrace. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before his shaking began to ease._ _

__“Better?” Arthur murmured into his hair when the trembling finally stopped._ _

__Nodding, Merlin turned his head so he could look up at Arthur but he made no move to pull away. He liked being close to Arthur, felt safe in his arms._ _

__“ _This_ is why I think we should wait, Merlin.”_ _

__“It…it wasn’t always _bad_ Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice soft. “Sometimes…sometimes it felt good.”_ _

__Arthur stroked a hand over Merlin’s hair and sighed. “But it was never your choice, was it, Merlin?”_ _

__He thought about it for a moment and shook his head._ _

__“Well, no, Papa always decided when, but I still liked it sometimes…when he didn’t hurt me. It…it was…sometimes when he’d stroke me, he’d hold me, call me his good boy. I liked that.”_ _

__Arthur shook his head and Merlin bent his neck, pressed his face to Arthur’s chest again._ _

__“Is it bad? That I liked it sometimes? Does that mean I’m bad?”_ _

__“No, Merlin, you aren’t bad. _He_ was bad. What he did to you was wrong. That…that sort of thing, _things_ ,” He paused to smile at Merlin as he echoed the earlier conversation. “Those things should come from love, Merlin, or at _least_ from desire, _mutual_ desire.”_ _

__He shook his head again._ _

__“Force should never be a part of it.”_ _

__“But…he didn’t always force me.”_ _

__“But he never gave you a choice, did he?”_ _

__Merlin shrugged, “I suppose...no. Not really.”_ _

__“Choice is important, Merlin. It’s what separates free men from slaves. A free man can say no…or he can _choose_ to say yes.”_ _

__“All right. I’m _choosing_ yes, Arthur. I _want_ to do things with you.”_ _

__Arthur’s smile was soft, his eyes gentle as he leaned down to kiss the tip of Merlin’s nose._ _

__“And _I’m_ choosing to wait for those things, Merlin. I _want_ them too, very much, but I want to wait a while. Wait till we know each other better. Will you wait? Will you? For _me_ , Merlin?”_ _

__“Can we still do the kissing part while we wait?”_ _

__Arthur might not think they were ready for anything more right now, but Merlin really liked the kissing…really _really_ liked it._ _

__

____

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

The weather continued to warm as the days lengthened and Arthur took every opportunity to spend as much time as he could with Merlin. He showed Merlin all the ins and outs of both castle and town then took him outside the city walls to show him the countryside. They explored all of Arthur’s favourite places--climbing the steep slope to the forest that loomed above the northern side of the city and trekking through the flower strewn meadows that spread out for miles to the east. The rolling hills to the south were lightly wooded and crisscrossed by dozens of small streams, but the uneven topography provided them with many a secluded little haven where they could hide away from the world for an hour or two.

Sometimes Arthur would bring a blanket or they’d find a patch of soft moss or springy grass to lie on while they curled around each other and talked in soft tones, sharing thoughts and confidences. Arthur shared stories about growing up with Gaius as his mentor and described the frustration he often felt when trying to relate to his father. Merlin listened closely and contributed little scraps about his own past…the master he called “Papa” who he doubted was any kind of relation but had been the only family he ever knew, the woman, Lyda, who was kind when she could be and little bits and pieces of information that were slowly giving Arthur an idea of the kind of life Merlin had led before he came to Camelot.

Arthur still attended to all his official duties, but didn’t look to volunteer for any extras. He also stopped pestering his father to increase his responsibilities. Concerned Uther might notice something amiss, Arthur watched him closely during their weekly breakfasts and bi-weekly suppers, but as usual, the King didn’t really seem to notice anything different about him. As long as he wasn’t receiving any negative reports, Uther never really seemed to notice _anything_ about Arthur.

Merlin’s reading lessons continued, though now that Merlin had a firm grasp on the basics, it was less a matter of actual teaching and more a process of guiding him to books that would gradually help sharpen his skills. Arthur had been prepared to endure any unpleasantness for Merlin’s sake, but much to his surprise, he’d actually enjoyed the process immensely. However, he was quite certain that his enjoyment had more to do with his pupil than it did with the teaching process. It was certainly no hardship for Arthur to sit side-by-side with the lovely boy, a single book spread across both their laps, heads close together as they poured over the same pages. And, as he’d suspected, Merlin was an amazingly fast learner, grasping each concept as it was explained to him and quickly memorizing the various rules that governed spelling, grammar and pronunciation.

There had been moments of frustration, mostly on Merlin’s part, when he felt he wasn’t progressing fast enough. However, he responded beautifully to the tiniest bits of praise and encouragement, tempering his impatience when assured that he was actually doing very well, indeed. The boy positively _thrived_ on even the smallest of compliments, his self-confidence blossoming like a flower in the summer sun.

The newly acquired ability to read only increased Merlin’s love of books, and in recent days, no matter where he was, he was never to be seen without some volume in hand. Be it marketplace, or forest meadow, a corner of Gaius’ workroom or a bench in the courtyard, if Merlin didn’t actually have his nose buried between the pages of his latest fancy, one could be sure to find it clutched in his hand. When he was actually forced to put a book down, it was done with a wistful sigh and a carefully placed ribbon to mark his place.

Even now, as they lay sprawled on their backs on a patch of grass in a secluded glen in the forest above the castle, there was a treatise on the relative merits of Pedanius Dioscorides’ _De Materia Medica_ lying beneath their entwined fingers. The discussion of medical theorem had long since given way to personal musings and then a quiet, lazy contemplation of the deepening purple of the night sky. Ostensibly, they’d gone out to gather herbs for Gaius, but the large canvas bag had gone woefully under-filled. Instead of gathering herbs as directed, they’d taken the opportunity to chase each other through the trees like children. Whenever either was caught, a battle in their long-standing tickle-war would commence, passing in a blur of twisting bodies, seeking fingers, and uproarious laughter. Exhausted after the last engagement, they lay on the ground where they’d collapsed, grinning at each other and they’d agreed to a truce for the remainder of the day.

The warmth of the afternoon began to cool and Merlin inched closer, tucking himself under Arthur’s arm and resting his head on Arthur’s chest. More than happy to oblige, Arthur curled his arm around the slender boy and held him close. Arthur wouldn’t deny Merlin the cuddling and kisses he so openly craved, but no matter how heated their embraces became, Arthur continued to keep things from going any further. It was the right thing to do, the noble thing...and it was _bloody torture._

Ever since that first kiss, Merlin had become increasingly bold and tactile. He was always bussing Arthur on the cheek and curling their fingers together whenever they met. Then, when they had a bit of privacy, he’d implore for deeper kisses while brazenly caressing Arthur _everywhere_. More than once, Arthur had been forced to gently admonish Merlin while (reluctantly) pulling his hands from where they’d snuck under Arthur’s garments.

He wanted to go slow, and make absolutely sure Merlin knew what he was inviting when he put his hands on Arthur’s flesh, but the constant cycle of arousal and denial was wearing down his resistance. Arthur’s private attempts to relieve himself could only help so much, and he found his efforts seemed to count for very little whenever Merlin pressed their bodies together. Even now, when Merlin seemed content just to lie in his arms, Arthur found his belly tightening in response to Merlin’s proximity, making it hard to concentrate as Merlin began to speak after a long, comfortable silence.

“You said…you said you wanted to know me before we…before we did _things_ together.”

“I do.”

“I want to…to tell you…about me.”

He hesitated, gnawing on his lower lip for a moment before continuing.

“Gaius told me…he told me not to. Said I shouldn’t tell anyone, but I…I want you to know...to know _me_.”

Arthur stroked reassuring fingers through Merlin’s hair, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and prepared to listen without judgment to whatever Merlin wanted to tell him.

“It’s all right, Merlin. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Remember my collar?”

Feeling the urge to growl just thinking of the damned thing, Arthur was careful to control his tone of voice when he answered. “Of course.”

“It was…there was a reason I wore it. A reason I didn’t want to take it off.”

He stopped again and Arthur held his breath, knowing Merlin was on the verge of sharing something vital and silently willed him to continue.

“I know you think it was a slave collar.”

“Merlin it _was_ a slave collar.”

“Maybe…but…that’s not _all_ it was.”

The stops and starts were _killing_ Arthur, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, letting Merlin take his time.

“It…it was so that I wouldn’t…so I couldn’t…” Merlin stuttered to a stop and didn’t seem to know how to start again. Long moments passed, and as he toyed with a tuft of Arthur’s chest-hair through the open vee of his collar, Merlin opened and closed his mouth several times, but nothing came out.

Arthur knew that whatever it was Merlin was trying to tell him must be extremely difficult for him, so he simply stroked Merlin’s back and waited patiently for him to continue.

Finally, after angling his head up to look directly into Arthur’s eyes, Merlin said “Actually…it…it might be easier if I showed you.” He sat up and scooted back a bit as Arthur also rose to a sitting position.

Confused, but willing to let Merlin explain however was easiest for him, Arthur didn’t say a word; he just watched Merlin close his eyes as if in concentration. When he opened them a few seconds later, Arthur gasped in shock to see they were _glowing_. Incandescent with bright, golden light, Merlin’s eyes blazed in the deepening gloom of the falling night.

It took several moments for Arthur to realize there were other lights blazing to life in the dark and he tore his eyes from Merlin’s only to gasp once again as fiery flowers began to blossom in the air. Lilies and roses, gillyflowers and daisies, irises and peonies unfurled before his eyes with petals formed of molten fire. An entire garden of flame bloomed around them. Glittering embers fell from the burning blossoms and the sparks trailed through the air in ribbons of shimmering light.

_Magic._

In the air before him.

It was _magic._

 _Merlin’s_ magic.

Merlin had magic…

And it was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen.

Not the flowers, magnificent as they were.

_Merlin._

Merlin: his eyes aglow, power sparking from his fingertips, his whole form luminous and shining, surrounded by shimmering streams of sparkling lights.

Transfixed, Arthur stared at him, helpless to look away, to think, to make sense of anything beyond the overwhelming awe he felt at the sight before him.

 _This_ was the reason Merlin had clung to that damned collar for so long, why he hadn’t ripped the damn thing from his throat the moment he was free from his “Papa”...why he’d looked so frightened when Arthur had thumbed open the catch and peeled the strap of leather and iron from the scarred skin of his slender throat. Merlin had magic, that poisonous evil that corrupted any who dared to touch it. Merlin…sweet, shy, supremely gentle Merlin.

Merlin, who hung his head and called himself a “bad dog”, who was convinced he was a monster because he’d been held in the thrall of a cruel man who made him do bad things. Merlin, who so loathed the idea of hurting anyone that he’d rather wear a dog’s collar and live like a shadow than risk losing control of himself. Merlin, who even now was regarding Arthur with apprehension and a palpable fear of rejection.

Arthur recalled all the thundering lectures his father had ever given him on the dangers of magic and the malevolence of those who wielded it. He remembered tirades and cautionary tales, sharp admonishments and endless, droning reminders. From his first memories, Arthur had been taught that magic was an abomination, a power that corrupted anything and anyone it touched. All sorcerers were irredeemably evil; there _were_ no exceptions.

He looked at Merlin blazing before him like a beacon in the night and knew that there was no power on earth that could convince him that _Merlin_ was evil.

Arthur reached for Merlin through a cloud of fiery embers that didn’t burn when they touched him and gathered the trembling, anxious-eyed boy close in his arms.

“Thank you,” he breathed into Merlin’s ear. “Thank you for trusting me.”

The tension that had stiffened Merlin’s spine and left him trembling in every limb seemed to flee all at once and he slumped into Arthur’s embrace with an audible sigh. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s back and squeezed him tight. Burying his face in the crook of Arthur’s shoulder, he sobbed once and Arthur felt the trickle of moisture down the side of his neck. Murmuring reassurances into the flared shell of one remarkable ear, Arthur rubbed soothing circles into Merlin’s back. He thanked Merlin again for his trust and vowed that he’d never betray it, would never allow anyone or anything to harm him…no matter what.

When Merlin pulled back in his embrace, Arthur loosened his arms, prepared to let him go...only to feel Merlin shift his hands from Arthur’s back to his shoulders. Soft lips pressed insistently against his own, and eagerly parting his lips, Arthur was happy to yield to Merlin’s urgent demand.

Breathing each other’s breath, their tongues met and twined together in the sweetest of slickened slides. Merlin moaned and Arthur swallowed the sound with a heightened feel of greedy need. He knew he should stop this, should stop Merlin before things got out of control, but as his hands found and slid beneath the edge of Merlin’s tunic, he had the sense that it might already have been too late.

Merlin pressed on Arthur’s shoulders, pushing and pushing till he bore him to the ground. Continuing to crowd into Arthur’s space, Merlin clambered over the prince even as he sank backward, crawling into his lap to straddle his thighs as soon as his arse touched the grass. Long fingers plucked at Arthur’s shirt laces and ran lightly over each bit of hair-roughened skin as it was exposed.

Already feeling his cock begin to harden, Arthur let his hands slide down Merlin’s back and groaned in pleasure as the pert arse that’d been the focus of all his recent fantasies filled his palms. Arthur felt his will weakening in direct proportion to his tightening flesh and knew that unless Merlin called things to a halt, there’d be no stopping tonight.

Still, even if Arthur couldn’t muster the resolution to keep their embraces chaste, he could at least make sure the night was all about Merlin and _his_ pleasure. With that in mind, he began to gently massage the taut buttocks in his hands, while attempting to soften the kiss from a hungry mauling to a more romantic nibble. However, Merlin was having none of it. When Arthur tried to draw back, Merlin followed. When Arthur’s tongue retreated Merlin growled, ruthlessly hunting for it with his own before sucking it back into his mouth. Burying his hands in Arthur’s hair, Merlin held his head in place as he bit down lightly on his prize.

Responding to Merlin’s urgency, Arthur hoisted him closer, roughly kneading his arse as he lifted his hips to press their erections together. Whining deep in his throat, Merlin dragged his nails down Arthur’s back and ground down hard in his lap. Snaking a hand between them, Merlin tugged open the laces first to Arthur’s trousers then his own. His hands full of Merlin’s glorious little arse, Arthur was happy to let him do the honours. Merlin pushed both waistbands down just enough to free their cocks and moaned into Arthur’s mouth at the first heated press of skin to skin. Pleasure tightened Arthur’s belly and he answered Merlin’s moan with a guttural sound of his own. Making use of his grip on Merlin’s arse, Arthur pulled his body tight against his own, rotating his hips to increase the friction between them.

Arthur was a bit surprised (but undeniably turned-on) when Merlin released his mouth in order to lick a shining strip of moisture across his own palm. Capturing Arthur’s mouth once again, Merlin wrapped his hand around both their cocks and began to pump them together. His pace was relentless, rapidly bringing Arthur to the edge…too rapidly.

 

“Merlin!” he gasped, reaching down to still his hand. “Ugh….Merlin, please…please let me, I want to show you…want to make this good for you…sooo good. Please!”

Merlin looked reluctant but he nodded, released Arthur’s cock and leaned away just enough to let Arthur wiggle out from under him. Rising up on his knees, Arthur stripped off his tunic before reaching for the hem of Merlin’s. He pressed the bare-chested warlock to the ground and scooted back a few inches to free Merlin from his boots. Returning to hook his hands into the loosened waistband of Merlin’s trousers, and his mouth watered as he peeled them down slowly to expose the pale skin of Merlin’s long, slender legs an inch at a time.

When he was done, Merlin lay before him in a wanton sprawl on the grass, gloriously bare and beautiful in the moonlight. His stomach muscles jerked under Arthur’s hungry gaze and his cock strained in the air. Swollen, thick, and hard, the weeping head just kissed the taut skin of his belly. For a long moment, Arthur could do nothing but stare, drinking in the sight before him.

Then Merlin began to squirm, reaching out for him with pleading arms. Whining again, the sound deep-throated and desperate, Arthur’s name twisted brokenly from his lips. Catching one of Merlin’s hands in his own, Arthur brought it to his lips, gently kissing the palm before pressing it back to Merlin’s side and sinking down between his wide-splayed knees.

Carefully stretching out along the ground between Merlin’s legs, Arthur lifted each in turn and draped them over his shoulders. Hooking his hands around the tops of Merlin’s thighs, he pulled him close enough to bury his nose in the thick nest of soft black curls clustered around the base of Merlin’s cock. 

Breathing deeply, he quickly grew heady off the musky scent of Merlin’s sex. He gently palmed Merlin’s sac and nuzzled at the soft skin of his inner thighs, gently nipping his way up the pearly stretch of silk until he reached the crease where Merlin’s leg joined his torso. Dragging his tongue back and forth over the groove, he carefully tugged and rolled Merlin’s balls in his hand. 

Enjoying the rough pull of the younger boy’s fingers in his hair, Arthur began swirl his tongue around the base of Merlin’s shaft. Merlin cried out, bucking his hips and arching off the ground, forcing Arthur to press his free hand to the sharp jut of one hipbone as he dragged his tongue up the full length of Merlin’s cock. Reaching the tip, he sucked it into his mouth and smiled around the shaft as Merlin keened and writhed under him. Sinking down, he swallowed Merlin to the root before drawing back, passionately swirling his tongue all along the pulsing length of Merlin’s cock.

Arthur indulged himself a bit, turning his attention to Merlin’s balls and lavishing them with attention. While Arthur loved Merlin's cock, he truly adored the scent and feel of his balls against his face and tongue. He laved each one individually on his tongue, gently sucking and nibbling them in turn before yawning wide to take both in at once. Merlin screamed and panted desperately, on the verge of hyperventilation as Arthur engulfed that most sensitive flesh in the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. Releasing Merlin’s balls, Arthur gave the moistened flesh a soft kiss and a quick nuzzle and then pulled away slightly. Arthur grinned in anticipation when Merlin whimpered a protest at the loss of his mouth. He knew his lover wouldn’t have to mourn his absence for long.

Lifting Merlin’s legs higher, Arthur slipped his hands beneath Merlin’s arse and spread the cheeks with his thumbs. Pulling even closer, he dipped into the crease and buried his tongue inside the tight, hot, little hole that lay within. Merlin squealed and his arse clenched up tight for a long moment before gradually beginning to relax in the sure grip of Arthur’s strong hands.

Relishing the delightful little squeaks and moans sounding from Merlin’s throat, Arthur took his time teasing his hole, darting his tongue in and out, swiping shallow little licks over the puckered skin, and lapping leisurely at the rim. Slowly working Merlin open with his tongue, Arthur pressed deeper and deeper until he could finally fuck Merlin with the full length of it. Arthur continued tonguing Merlin’s hole until his voice was one long moan and his body draped bonelessly over Arthur’s shoulders.

Easing Merlin down, Arthur licked his way back up to Merlin’s cock. Encircling the head with his tongue, he teased the v-shaped notch just below and smiled as Merlin bucked and cried out his name. Sucking Merlin’s cock into his mouth again, Arthur grasped the base of it in one hand and stroked up to meet his mouth as it descended. Slicking the rest of the shaft with saliva, Arthur began to twist his hand as he stroked, working his lips and tongue in opposite rotation. The effect was gratifying as Merlin squealed and began thrashing side to side, eyes screwed up, mouth wide open and keening. When Arthur slipped two fingers under Merlin’s balls to tease the sensitive stretch of skin, Merlin arched off the ground entirely, crying out

“Inside! Unng… please! In…iside... Arthur! Nn…need you…ahhh…inside me!”

Arthur stilled as Merlin’s plea hit him like a blow to the solar-plexus, jolting through his body and punching the air from his lungs. His cock jerked, hardening almost to the point of pain. He wanted to fuck Merlin more than he’d wanted anything in his life…but this moment wasn’t about him. It was about Merlin and giving _him_ all the pleasure he’d never had before. Returning his attention to the twisting glide of his hand and the slide of his mouth over Merlin’s cock, Arthur gathered some saliva on the fingers of his free hand and slipped it under the shallow curve of Merlin’s arse. Seeking and finding the hot, moist entrance to his lover’s body, Arthur slowly circled the rim before sliding one digit deep inside the tongue-loosened hole. He added a second and began to work his fingers in and out in rhythm with his stroking hand and mouth.

At first he was cautious and slow in his movements, carefully assessing Merlin for any hint of discomfort. When there was none--in fact Merlin groaned deep in his chest and pressed down to meet Arthur’s fingers--Arthur began to gradually speed up the motion. Soon he was pistoning his fingers in Merlin’s hole in time with his head as he bobbed up and down on Merlin’s cock. Arthur’s saliva slickened all the action, running down Merlin’s shaft and over Arthur’s hand to drip over Merlin’s balls until it met the fingers pumping his arse. Merlin was wild with pleasure, all primal grunts and arching back, his hips bucking and grinding as he tried to fuck himself down on Arthur’s fingers while still thrusting up into the hot, slick grip of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur knew Merlin couldn’t last long with so much stimulation and he was ready for it when Merlin screamed, convulsed, and exploded in his mouth. Slipping his fingers from Merlin’s hole, Arthur eagerly swallowed the salty-sweet cream of his release. When he’d finally lapped up the last precious drops from the softening cock between his lips, Arthur eased Merlin’s legs to the ground. Then he rose to his knees and yanked his loosened trousers down to free his own aching erection. Wrapping his spit-slick hand around the shaft, he began to stroke himself, intent on reaching his own release quickly. Once again, he was in for a surprise as Merlin sat upright and reached out to grab Arthur’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock.

“No!” he cried out, replacing Arthur’s fingers with his own. “No, please. I want it!”

“Merlin…”

Arthur wasn’t even sure _why_ he was arguing anymore. It was hard to think with Merlin’s fingers wrapped tightly around his throbbing flesh. Merlin was stroking him with the lightest possible touch, but it was still enough to steal the breath from Arthur’s lungs and drive coherent thought from his brain.

Merlin’s mouth tightened mutinously. “You told me it was _my_ choice, that you wanted to make me _feel good._ ”

Arthur nodded, “I do, Merlin. Whatever you want.”

“I want this.” He said, gripping the base of Arthur’s cock and giving it a gentle squeeze. “ _This_ will make me feel good. I want you inside me.”

“Merlin…I won’t be able to last.”

“I don’t care.”

“I…we...we don’t have anything to slick you with.”

“Yes we do,” Merlin said as he lunged forward, slipping his mouth over Arthur’s cock to swallow him to the root.

Arthur cried out and would have cum right then and there but for the tight grip Merlin had on the base of his cock. Deliberately gagging himself to make the spit flow faster, Merlin drooled all over Arthur’s prick, getting him wet and slick enough to ride. Then he pushed the unresisting prince onto his back and rose to his feet. He straddled Arthur’s legs and stood over him and it was only then that he seemed to falter for a moment.

“I…I want to be on top. Is that…it that all right? I’ve never been on top before.”

“Oh gods, yes Merlin!” Arthur gasped out, almost intolerably turned-on. “Please?”

Grinning, his confidence restored, Merlin crouched over Arthur and reached back to guide the tip of his painfully hard erection to his own entrance. Sinking down carefully, he slowly absorbed Arthur’s flesh into his body inch by delicious inch.

“Oh gods, Merlin!” Arthur cried out. “Unggh…I can’t…not gonna…ugh!”

He tried, he tried so hard to control himself but it was damn near impossible with Merlin’s tight, hot flesh all around him. Merlin urged him on with little pleas, “Just a little bit Arthur, please, just a little longer!” and he mustered every ounce of self-control he had not to cum until Merlin was ready. No tournament or challenge he’d faced had ever been so fierce a contest as the fight to keep from cumming in that moment. Later, he’d be ashamed to recall that Merlin had done most of the work himself, rising and falling under his own power, his arse clenched tight as he slid himself up and down on Arthur’s cock while Arthur fought with everything he had to just _not cum_.

It was enough for Merlin though,enough to bring his spent cock back to peak arousal. It was enough for him to moan Arthur’s name and stroke himself as he rode Arthur’s cock. And it lasted just long enough for him to cum a second time, moments after Arthur finally lost the battle with his orgasm and bellowed his relief as he emptied himself into the molten hot core of Merlin’s body. Already overstimulated, Arthur could have cried as he felt Merlin’s channel squeezing and rippling around the hyper-sensitive flesh of his softening prick.

“Please, Merlin please. It’s...too much, gods, too much!”

Merlin seemed to understand and leaned forward just enough to let Arthur slip from his body. Then he slumped forward and slid to his side, coming to rest on the ground against Arthur’s body. Merlin laid his head on Arthur’s shoulder and stretched an arm across his chest. Still feeling shaky, Arthur managed to wrap his wobbly arm around Merlin’s shoulders and gave him a little squeeze.

They lay curled together in the grass, letting their hearts slow and their breathing return to normal. Bonelessly relaxed, Arthur’s mind floated free in a post-orgasmic haze. It came to him then that _he loved Merlin_ , truly, deeply, and with all of his heart. In that open and receptive state of mind, he welcomed that love even with the realization he and Merlin could never have an easy path. They would have to overcome so many obstacles just to stay together…but Arthur knew that he could face anything as long as Merlin was by his side.

A soft little snuffling snore told him Merlin had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t hear, but Arthur wanted to tell him anyway. Dropping a kiss to the top of Merlin’s head, he whispered three words he’d never said to anyone before, “I love you.”

His heart skipped a beat as Merlin stirred in his arms, nuzzled his chest and slurred a sleepy, “Mmm…loveyoutoo,” against his skin.

Supremely content with his world, Arthur drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 8

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The early hours of the following morning find Merlin stretched out on his bed, drowsily contemplating his night with Arthur. They had spent most of it curled together under a sheet of stars and had only snuck back into the castle in the wee hours of the morning. The night that had just passed had been the most amazing of Merlin’s life and he couldn’t stop replaying it over and over in his head. He had never known pleasure like that before…had never been touched like that…loved like that. Loved…Arthur…

_Arthur loved him._

Arthur _loved_ him.

Arthur loved _him_.

No one had ever loved Merlin before...at least no one that Merlin remembered. He had always hoped that maybe the mother he couldn’t recall had loved him…at least a little bit. But of a certainty, no one else had ever loved Merlin before now. And of all the people in the world who _could_ have loved Merlin, for it to be the Prince of Camelot! That…that well-nigh defied comprehension.

Arthur didn’t care that Merlin had magic. He had accepted it without question, had _thanked_ Merlin for telling him! Merlin had been so worried that Arthur, given he _was_ Uther Pendragon’s son, would pull away once he knew, that he would reject Merlin for his magic. Gaius had warned Merlin not to tell Arthur, had said that he probably wouldn’t understand, and might even turn Merlin over to the king for judgment. Merlin hadn’t really believed that Arthur would turn on him, but he _had_ been afraid that Arthur might not want him around anymore once he knew. But…it had just seemed _wrong_ not to tell him. Arthur had said he wanted to know Merlin and his magic was such a big part of him that there would have been no way for Arthur _to_ know Merlin and not know of his magic.

He smiled to himself, happy and just a bit smug that he’d been right about Arthur. He could feel his smile widen even further thinking that not only had Arthur not turned on him, but he’d accepted his magic and said he _loved_ Merlin! Giggling softly, he hugged his pillow to his chest delighted that all his thoughts kept leading back to that one. His mind had finally begun to drift into the gentle confusion of sleep when he heard someone call his name.

“Merlin!”

A pause, then it came again, more insistent this time.

“Merrrrrrlin…”

The voice was soft, a throaty-sounding purr buzzing around the edges of his consciousness.

“Merrrrrrliiiin…”

Coaxed back to full awareness by the persistent calling, Merlin sat up and blinked around the room searching for the source of the voice and found…nothing. 

Then it came again, “Merrrrliiiin!”

And he realized that the voice was coming from _inside_ his head. It had grown infinitesimally louder when he sat up and it grew louder still when he got out of bed and made his way toward the door. Stopping just long enough to slip on his boots, Merlin didn’t bother fastening them all the way up, just folded the tops down and tiptoed into the outer chamber.

 

He allowed the voice to guide him, out into the corridor and past the library. If not for making the rounds with Gaius, Merlin knew he’d have been lost within minutes as the voice led him in a confusing winding pattern through dozens of halls and corridors. The voice led him down, deep down into the very bowels of the castle. He found himself descending a zig-zagging set of stairs that passed several levels of what looked like dungeons. It led down so deep into the earth that Merlin was certain that he must be below even the famous Vaults of Camelot, renowned throughout the Five Kingdoms for their deep and secure burial.

Eventually, he reached the very bottom and came upon a pair of guards who seemed completely oblivious to his arrival. One of them was fast asleep, slumped over a scarred wooden table, his face cushioned on one arm. The other, barely more alert than his sleeping companion, was listlessly tossing a set of dice over and over without bothering to check the results before scooping them up and dropping them again in monotonous repetition.

They were hardly any kind of deterrent to anyone who might think to trespass on their precinct of the dungeons. However, Merlin had no desire to engage in any sort of confrontation, he merely wished to slip past them and through the rough opening he could spy in the stone wall behind them.

Merlin concentrated for a moment before insinuating himself in the waking guard’s mind and implanting within it a sudden strong urge to piss. As soon as the man rose to relieve himself at the bucket in the far corner of the room, Merlin slipped behind him on magically muffled feet, the soft, insistent voice still calling him forward.

 

Ducking through the opening, he stumbled a few steps down yet another set of stairs. Jerking upright in an attempt to prevent his stumble from becoming a fall, he knocked his head into the _rough_ , low-hanging ceiling of the tunnel. Irritably rubbing the back of his skull, Merlin conjured a small, fiery ball of light so he could descend the rest of the stairs without breaking his neck.

When he reached the bottom and looked ahead, he saw that the tunnel widened just a bit further on. Moving forward he was astonished to find that the tunnel didn’t just widen but actually opened up entirely into an enormous cavern that must have been at least a hundred feet high. Staring up, distracted by the sheer size of the place, Merlin very nearly walked right off the edge of a short ledge that dropped away into a fathomless darkness below. Stumbling back, and looking side to side Merlin suddenly realized two things--the voice had stopped calling, and with nothing but a sheer drop on three sides, he could go no further.

He called out, “Hello!” and listened as his voice echoed off the vast walls. As the noise faded, Merlin thought he caught the faint sound of laughter. He whirled around but there was no one there. He sent the ball of light further out into the cavern but the space remained empty even as the laughter grew louder, closer.

“Where are you?” He cried out and suddenly the air was filled with a great whooshing and snapping. Merlin would have thought the sound to be the flapping of wings but surely there could never be a creature with wings large enough to create _that_ much noise…and then he saw it.

It must have been fifty feet long if it was an inch with a wing-span of close to seventy five. Seeming to fill the entire cave as it swept into view, it was reptilian in aspect, scaled from tip to tail in gleaming bronze. The great wings beat the air in concussive waves, as it hovered for a moment before dropping down onto an outcropping opposite the ledge where Merlin was standing. Huge claws gripped the rock as the creature settled and an enormous head on an impossibly long neck was thrust forward so the creature could peer closely at Merlin with glowing, golden eyes.

Merlin stared at the dragon- _HOLY SHIT! It’s a DRAGON!!_ (Gaius had said there was a dragon underneath the castle but Merlin hadn’t been sure if the story was true. Even if he had believed it, he still would never have imagined _meeting_ the legendary creature!)-and the dragon studied him. For a long moment neither said anything. Then the dragon opened its mouth to display a row of distressingly large teeth and said rather redundantly,

“I’m here,” greeting him with the same voice Merlin had heard calling from inside his head.

Then, after another moment had passed, the dragon added in a rather patronizing tone, “How small you are for such a great destiny.”

Swallowing nervously, Merlin dared to question the giant creature looming over him so intimidatingly.

 

“Me? A great destiny? What do you mean?”

“Did you never wonder about your gifts Merlin?”

“My…my gifts? You mean…wait how do you know my name?”

“Young warlock, I knew much of you before you were even born. I felt it the moment you entered the city.”

“How could…why…what are you talking about?”

“I sensed your magic, young warlock. A power such as yours shines like a light to those with the eyes to see it.”

Unhappy to know he was some kind of sorcerous spectacle to the magical world, Merlin wondered if anyone else could sense his presence in Camelot. He knew better than to court the attention of those who sought out the users of magic in _this_ kingdom. Gaius had warned him that in addition to those who would kill him for his gifts, there were also those who’d want to exploit them. Speaking of…he peered up at the dragon.

“Why did you call me? What do you want from me?”

“I wished to speak to you, young warlock. There is much you do not yet know about your past _and_ your future. I think it’s past time you heard some of it.”

“You said something about destiny…about my…my…”

 

“Magic.”

Merlin nodded.

“Your gifts were given to you for a reason, young warlock. Did you never wonder about your future, about your destiny?”

“My d-destiny? I…I have a destiny? _Me?_ ”

“Indeed young warlock, both you and the young Pendragon.”

“Arthur? What does Arthur have to do with this?”

“Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion.”

“All right,” Merlin answered, still confused as to what Arthur’s destiny could have to do with his own. “And…?”

“But he faces many threats, from friend and foe alike.”

The thought of Arthur in danger made Merlin’s blood run cold.

“You…why are you telling _me_ this? Shouldn’t you be telling him?”

“I am telling _you_ young warlock because without _you_ , Arthur will never succeed. Without _you_ , there will _be no Albion._ ”

 _That_ was too much for Merlin to believe. There was no way that _he_ could be that important. Arthur, yes, but _Merlin?_

“That…that can’t be right. What help can I give him? I don’t know anything about being king or ruling or…anything!”

“The Pendragons have created a vast number of enemies these many years and Uther has left his son defenseless against the mightiest of them. You have great power, young warlock. Can you see no advantage for Arthur in having you by his side?”

“But Arthur’s not like his father! He doesn’t hate magic. He wasn’t even upset…I mean, he didn’t even care that I have magic!”

“Which is something that gladdens my heart, young warlock, but it does not change what is to come. Arthur is Uther’s son and the king despises all magic. He seeks to root it out wherever it exists. When Arthur’s time comes--if his time comes--he will need your help to restore what his father has destroyed.”

“What do you mean _if?_ ” Merlin demanded, feeling outraged.

“The young Pendragon will need a protector if he is to live to inherit his father’s crown. Someone gifted in the ways of magic and combat.”

“Me? I’m meant to be Arthur’s _protector?_ ”

“Yes, young warlock.” The dragon’s surprisingly mobile mouth stretched into a smile. “It is your destiny.”

Before Merlin could recover from the shock of knowing Arthur’s safety rested solely in _his_ hands, the dragon launched himself from the rock with a snapping flurry of wings and disappeared into the dark depths of the seemingly endless cavern.

Dazed, overwhelmed, and lost in thought. Merlin left the way he’d come, creeping past the guards (both now asleep) and returning to his room. He slipped back into his room just as the first rays of morning light began spill through the window and over the rumpled bed.

 

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“Excellent Merlin, that’s some very neat work.”

Gaius examined the tidy bandage Merlin had applied to Sir Leon’s upper arm with satisfaction. While not a disabling wound, the sword cut the knight had received sparring against Arthur had still been deep enough to warrant several stitches. The prince had escorted his injured comrade as far as Gaius’ door then departed immediately, a blush upon his cheeks after exchanging smiles with Merlin.

Sir Leon gave his thanks to both of them and before he departed acceded to Gaius’ admonishment not to strain the arm for several days, lest he tear the wound open again. His smile was genuinely amused as he gave Gaius his solemn oath to follow the physician’s instructions to the letter.

“You have to take extra care with the knights, Merlin, especially the young ones. They tend to think any wound that’s not spouting great gouts of blood is nothing and any injury not immediately life threatening to be of no consequence. That one there would train on broken legs if he could get away with it…I know, because he’s tried.”

 

In the last two weeks, Merlin had progressed from just observing Gaius to actually performing several minor tasks on his own. As evidenced by his latest effort, Merlin was proving a dab hand at wound care, ably bandaging even the most awkwardly positioned injuries with a deft touch. He was keenly observant and his sharp eyes missed very little, a real blessing to Gaius with his aging eyesight. Merlin was also beginning to show real potential with apothecary tasks, and had already taken over the heaviest of the donkey work for Gaius without even being asked to.

Pleased by the boy’s interest and proud of his undeniable diligence, Gaius had wondered more than once if Merlin might not like to stay with him and take an official position as his assistant. Gaius couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t grown attached to the young man since he had literally crashed into his life that early-spring morning in the woods. Merlin’s agile mind, sweet personality, and surprisingly open nature made him so easy to love that it almost defied comprehension that anyone could abuse him as heinously as they so obviously had.

It was manifestly evident that in his short life, Merlin had already lived through hell, and Gaius badly wanted to offer the boy a home and a secure future. What made him hesitate was the boy’s magic. For a young man with such power, Camelot was a dangerous place indeed. Was it selfish of Gaius to want Merlin to stay? And yet, Kilgharrah had said the boy belonged here…belonged with Arthur…

“Merlin?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want…would you like to stay here? You could become my assistant, if you’d like. You could live here with me, study and eventually become a physician in your own right.”

“What about my magic?”

“You’d have to be careful, Merlin… _very_ careful. I know that Arthur accepted your secret readily enough, but few others would. If the king ever discovered that you have magic, there is very little even Arthur could do to save you.”

So far, Gaius had managed to keep Merlin out of the King’s eye but he was realistic enough to know that he couldn’t do so forever. And while it was generally beneath Uther to take note of a lowly physician’s assistant, there was something about Merlin that tended to draw attention even when the boy wasn’t courting it. It might have been his magic, unseen but still strangely attractive to the subconscious mind. It might have been the boy’s natural charisma beginning to shine after so many years of brutal repression. Or it might have been the boy’s rather distinctive looks. Gaius couldn’t be sure which of the three it was, or indeed, if it was a combination of them all together, but there was just _something_ about Merlin that drew the eye and made it linger.

Then there was Merlin’s rapidly developing relationship with Arthur. Assuming he hadn’t already, it was inevitable that Uther would soon hear of his son’s new bosom companion. When he did, he would no doubt have Merlin investigated and it was vitally important that there be nothing to even _hint_ at the boy’s true nature. It would be better for Merlin to already have an official position when the King eventually took notice of him. A feckless and unfettered former slave was easily disposed of. Gaius’ sponsorship would afford Merlin a measure of protection he’d not otherwise have.

Looking sternly into Merlin’s guileless blue eyes, he adjured, “Promise me that you won’t ever use it where you might be caught. Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

Meeting Gaius’ gaze directly, Merlin’s face was solemn as he promised, “I will.”

“All right, then. Shall we go to see the Steward and make it official?”

“Yes, please,” Merlin said with a happy little smile.

Immensely pleased, Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s back and ushered him toward the door.

“You know, as my assistant you’ll actually get to draw a small stipend from the crown treasury.”

“What’s a stipend?”

“Money, Merlin. It’s money.”

Later that night, Gaius knocked on Merlin’s door, a carefully wrapped package in his gnarled old hands.

“Here Merlin, I have something I’d like to give you to mark the day you officially became my assistant.”

He carefully placed the weighty rectangular bundle of silky red linen in Merlin’s outstretched hand and watched in smiling anticipation as Merlin carefully unwrapped it. Gaius felt a thrill of pure enjoyment curl through him at the way Merlin’s eyes lit up when the cloth fell away to reveal a book. The wooden cover was bound in brown leather, tastefully embossed with gilded edges and curved brass fittings. As usual, Merlin took a moment to appreciate the artistry that went into assembling the book before he popped open the clasps and lifted the cover.

“This book was given to me when I was your age. Though, I have a feeling it will be of more use to you than it was to me.”

Merlin thumbed through the illuminated pages, stroking his fingers over graceful illustrations of plants, creatures and all manner of esoterica. He eyed the widely varying scripts on the hand-written entrances and sorted through the many loose papers, carefully turning them to line up with the permanently bound pages. Looking up to meet Gaius’ eyes, his own shone with excitement.

“This is a book of magic!”

“Indeed. You must promise to keep it safely hidden.”

“Oh ,I promise! I will study every word!”

“Good. I did much the same when I was a boy. Not that it did me much good.”

“You have magic?” Merlin sounded excited.

Gaius gave him a rueful smile, sad to disenchant his new ward.

“Just a little, my talents always lay more with the more mundane practicum of science. I think I was a bit of a disappointment to my father. That was _his_ book and his father’s before that, it’s been in my family for generations.”

“Oh! Then you shouldn’t give it to me,” Merlin said, attempting to give the book back.

Gaius’ closed his hands over Merlin’s and pressed the book to him.

“Merlin, you _are_ my family now. There’s no one in the world I’d want to have this book more than you. I can think of no worthier recipient.”

Merlin’s eyes grew bright with unshed tears and his smile intensified to a blinding brilliance.

“Thank you, Gaius!” he said as he flung his arms around the old man in an exuberant hug.“I hope I won’t be a disappointment to _you._ ”

Affection rose in Gaius’ heart, so strong it brought tears to his eyes as well. He gave Merlin a squeeze and promised, “You won’t my boy. Never fear, you won’t.”

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Merlin wandered among the stalls of Camelot’s market and pondered what he should buy. He’d never before had even the smallest coin to spend himself and now he had a belt pouch jingling with several! It was terribly exciting, but also a bit intimidating. There were so many things for sale in the city, what should he spend his money on?

He’d asked Gaius that when the older man had handed him his stipend that morning. Gaius’ grinning answer, “Whatever you want, Merlin!” had not been particularly helpful. Merlin thought about the sort of things that Gaius bought when they came to the market together--food, herbs, parchment, ink, bottles and jars--but Merlin didn’t need to buy those things because Gaius already did. Then he thought about the sort of things Arthur usually bought when they’d strolled the stalls together--food, wine, sweets…now there was an idea. Merlin really liked sweets, though he’d learned his lesson well. Since that first time when he’d gotten so sick, Merlin had been more cautious with how many sweets he ate at one time.

Fancying the idea of a fresh fried crysp, Merlin made his way to the pastry-maker’s place. He was in no particular hurry, Gaius having given him “the afternoon off” as he put it, so once he’d obtained his crysp, he took his time examining some of the other items for sale in the nearby shops. He remembered Gaius’ favourite Flathonys and got one for the kindly man. Then having bought a present for Gaius, he decided to pick something up for Arthur as well. Maybe some small cakes? Oh no! He had the perfect idea, he’d get some of that super-sticky sweet Arthur liked so well…toffee! That was it; he’d get Arthur some toffee.

Excited by the thought, Merlin hurried along the lane anticipating how Arthur would smile when Merlin presented him with the treat. He was so distracted that he wound up running straight into a man walking the other direction. As they collided, Merlin dropped his bag and the man dropped the package he was carrying. Merlin immediately bent to gather the bags from the muddy ground but when he stood to hand the package back to the man, he nearly dropped it again in shock.

_Pel._

It was Papa’s man Pel standing before him. Merlin’s mind rejected the idea out of hand. Impossible, Pel was dead. He’d died with Papa and Garret. There was no way Pel could be here in Camelot…but …there he was.

“Merlin!”

No doubt about it now, it was definitely Pel. Grinning in his usual manic manner, the small, skinny man made a great show of dusting imaginary dirt from Merlin’s shoulders and arms, as if it had been Merlin that had landed in the street not just his bag.

“My, you are a sight for sore eyes! You look good! Put a bit of weight on, haven’t ya? I see ya got some new togs as well. Looks like you’ve landed on your feet right and proper, eh? Your Papa will be relieved. Fair worn to a thread, he’s been that worried about you. Got me and the boys looking all over this thrice-forsaken city for you.”

“He’s dead,” Merlin denied woodenly. Papa was _dead_. He had to be dead. Merlin had _seen_ him--he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t _breathing_ when Merlin had left him. Papa was dead…he _had_ to be.

“What the fuck gave you that idea?”

“I saw…him.”

“Couldn’t have looked very hard, cause he ain’t dead. Run off in the middle of things, did ya? Them that attacked us didn’t bother to stay and finish the job. Kanen got burned a bit, reckons he broke his arm when he fell from his horse but otherwise, he’s right as rain. _I_ got a bit singed, thanks for asking, but nothing a few weeks of rest couldn’t cure. Garret weren’t so lucky.”

Stunned and speechless, Merlin just stood there as Pel wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a parody of friendship.

“An’ you! Well, like I said, your Papa’s been beside himself over you going missing.”

However, when Pel gave Merlin a nudge and tried to get him moving down the street, Merlin jerked away.

“Come _on_ Merlin,” he said, clamping a hand down on Merlin’s wrist. “Time to get you home.”

“It’s…not. No!” He yanked his arm free, but Pel had him by neck before he’d taken two steps. He yanked Merlin close with a sneer.

“Not what, Merlin? Eh? No? You don’t want to see your Papa? No? You don’t want to go home? What, you too good for us, now? Got yourself a new life here?”

“I...yes...no…I…”

It was hard to think. Merlin did have a new life here, a _good_ life but Papa couldn’t know about that. Papa would never let Merlin stay with Gaius if he knew. He’d never let him learn about medicine or healing or anything else for that matter, and he’d _never_ let Merlin have Arthur.

Pel was shoving him now, one hand wrapped around his upper arm, the other still clamped to the back of Merlin’s neck. Some part of him, the old scared Merlin, just wanted to curl under and let it happen. A lifetime of training screamed at him to submit to Pel because he was better than Merlin, he was more important and that’s what a good dog does, he submits to his betters.

“Couldn’t _think_ where you could have gotten off to. We never would have thought of _Camelot_. Fuck, a sparker like you? They’d kill you just for breathing their air!”

That wasn’t right; Merlin belonged here. He had a good place as Gaius’ assistant, people who _loved him_ and a beautiful future to be spent at Arthur’s side. He wasn’t that whipped dog anymore and he didn’t want to go back to Kanen.

“No!” he cried and wrenched away from Pel. The wiry little weasel was fast, though, much faster than Merlin and he immediately grabbed a hold of Merlin’s wrist again. One thin lip curled into a sneer as he mocked Merlin’s struggle.

“Go on then, Merlin, run on back to whatever little hole you found in this city. You know we’ll just find you again. Think we couldn’t? Found you today, didn’t we? We’ll find you wherever you go. And maybe we’ll get to meet the nice people who fattened you up so good, the ones that gave you the pretty clothes. Eh? Think they’d fancy meeting us?”

Merlin’s blood ran cold at the thought of frail old Gaius at the mercy of Kanen’s thugs. He had a sudden vision of Arthur cut to ribbons by their swords or falling under a hail of crossbow bolts. There was no way Merlin could let that happen. He had to keep Kanen away from his new family, his _real_ family--the people who loved him.

And just like that he stopped fighting, let Pel drag him down the street with only a fleeting glance back over his shoulder to fix the image of Camelot’s castle in his mind forever.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

“Merliiiin!! You’re back!”

Kanen stood with his arms stretched wide, a huge grin splitting his face. Merlin couldn’t remember ever seeing the man smile like that before…at least not at him. And he definitely couldn’t ever remember Kanen _hugging_ him with any kind of enthusiasm before. But that was what happened; as soon as he came close enough Kanen wrapped Merlin up in his arms and squeezed him in apparent delight.

“You had your old Papa so worried, Merlin! When I woke up from that attack and you were gone…I just about lost my mind! You must have been so scared, that sparker coming out of nowhere, blowin’ us all out of the saddle.”

Lowering his voice, Kanen’s tone softened and grew sympathetic. He almost managed to sound caring, but the concern rang false in Merlin’s ears. He knew what genuine concern sounded like now, and while Kanen made a good show of it, he wasn’t good enough to fool Merlin; not anymore.

“Can’t rightly blame you for scarpering; I know it rattled me proper. But not as bad as when we couldn’t find you. Knowing you were out there, all alone, I couldn’t imagine how you’d survive. It must have been so hard for you.”

Kanen ruffled Merlin’s hair then took half a step back. Raising both hands to Merlin’s shoulders, Kanen held him at arm’s length and eyed him up and down.

“But now you’re back! Safe and sound, nothing more to worry about,” he said, his smile turning cheerful. “We missed you round here, Merlin. Didn’t we, Pel?”

“Oh yeah, you were _sorely_ missed Merlin,” Pel confirmed mockingly.

Merlin said nothing. What was there to say? Kanen was obviously pleased to have him back, while Merlin felt like he was bleeding on the inside. He hadn’t even been gone a full day but he missed Arthur, missed Gaius, even missed Camelot itself. He didn’t belong with Kanen and his gang…not any more.

“So, the gang’s all together again. Everything’s back to normal, eh?” Kanen let him go but stayed close. “One big happy family! Ain’t that right, Merlin?”

When Merlin didn’t immediately answer, Kanen gave him a little hip nudge.

“I said, ain’t that right, _Merlin_?”

Merlin looked at Kanen for a long, drawn out moment. Looked and saw the man he’d always called “Papa”, the man who’d raised him, the man who’d trained him…the man who’d collared him like a dog and used him like a slave. Before Camelot, before Gaius and Arthur and dragons and destiny, this man had been his family…the only family that Merlin could properly remember.

And yet, he knew Kanen wasn’t his real father, had always understood that on some level. Before, that had been something he’d been grateful about, that Kanen had kept him, even though he wasn’t Kanen’s real son, but now…

“Is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is it right? Is this my family?”

“What you talking ‘bout? I’m the only family you got.”

“What about my mother?”

“What about her?”

“Who was she?”

“How the hell should I know? I found you all alone, abandoned in the street, just this tiny little thing shivering in the cold. I took you home, took care of you, raised you as my own.”

Merlin had heard this story before, had always believed it. He’d never had a reason _not_ to. Listening to it now, though...he wondered how he could have ever swallowed such a tale. _Kanen_ taking up a foundling child in a tender act of charity?

Kanen grabbed him roughly by the chin, tilted his face up and forced Merlin to meet his glaring eyes.

“No one wanted you, Merlin. No one ever gave a rat’s arse about you. Only me. Don’t you _ever_ forget that.”

He sounded angry, his tone self-righteous and indignant. But Merlin also heard the thread of discomfort running through it. The defensiveness of Kanen’s demeanor undermined the credibility of his words and Merlin knew that he was either lying outright or wasn’t telling the _whole_ truth.

“I’ve told you this before, Merlin.” His eyes turned suspicious. “Why this sudden interest in the past? Someone been asking questions?”

“No.”

The denial was automatic. There was no way he was going to tell Kanen about Arthur, no way he would reveal what they’d shared about their pasts, how neither of them could remember their mothers but how they both desperately longed to.

“Look Merlin, do yourself a favour and don’t try to think too much. It don’t do you no good. _You_ ain’t the thinking sort. Ain’t no point to dwelling on the past, anyhow. It’s gone and done. There’s no getting it back, so why waste what little brains you got thinking about it?”

After months of being praised for quick thinking and intelligent questions, Kanen’s casual insults grated in a way they never had before. It was clear Kanen thought Merlin was stupid, and before he’d been to Camelot, Merlin had agreed with him. Now he knew better. He wasn’t stupid; he’d just never had the opportunity to learn anything except how to kill and how to submit.

Suddenly, there were hands on either side of his neck, and it was all Merlin could do not to flinch away. Kanen’s fingers lightly circled the column of his throat without applying any pressure, but Merlin shivered from the implicit threat nonetheless.

“I see you lost your collar, Merlin,” Kanen said, his voice a throaty purr in Merlin’s ear.

His breath was hot on the skin of Merlin’s neck as he trailed his fingers over the puckered circle of scars in a chilling parody of concern. Merlin couldn’t repress a shudder of revulsion, couldn’t help but compare Kanen’s proprietorial touch to the tender caress of Arthur’s loving hands.

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got your old one.”

This time Merlin _did_ flinch. His old collar, a circle of pure, rigid iron, had been too tight when he’d last worn it _two years ago_. He’d grown since then and Kanen was well aware of it. Forcing Merlin to wear his old collar was a punishment for daring to take off the new one.

“You can wear it until you’ve _properly_ settled back in. _Then_ we’ll see about getting you a new one.

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“Gaius, it’s been two days. He can’t have gotten lost in Camelot for _two days_ ; the city just isn’t that big! Something must have happened to him...and I’m going to find out what.”

Arthur swept around Gaius’ work room, filling his arms with assorted medical supplies.

“Jumping to conclusions and running off half-cocked isn’t going to help anything, Arthur. You have to stop and think.”

Gaius watched Arthur’s winding, haphazard progress, his lips tight with worry and his famed eyebrow unfurled to its full height.

“I have been thinking Gaius, for _two days_ I’ve done nothing _but_ think! It’s time to act.”

Plopping his armload down on top of Gaius’ dinner table, Arthur sorted through the gathered provisions and began loading them inside a saddlebag.

“Have you any idea of where to even start?”

Scooping up a large wad of bandages from a bin full of the cloth rolls, Arthur stuffed them haphazardly in the bag. He had no idea what shape Merlin might be in when he found him, but he wanted to be prepared. He could only hope he wouldn’t need these supplies but he’d rather not be sorry for want of them later.

“Give me some credit, Gaius. I’ve spoken with every guard who was on watch in the city that day and only one of them remembers seeing a boy that looked like Merlin.”

Gaius reached into the bag, pulled the bandages back out, and re-rolled them neatly before arranging them around the small collection of glass bottles already nestled inside. Arthur tightened his lips in a brief smile of thanks as he turned to grab another handful of supplies.

 

“That doesn’t mean it _was_ Merlin.”

Pausing to eye his mentor in mounting consternation, Arthur demanded, “Why are you fighting me on this, Gaius? Don’t you care that he’s probably in trouble?”

The physician met his glare unflinchingly, eyebrow still in place.

“It’s _because_ I fear he is in trouble that I don’t want you involving yourself Arthur. If he’s fallen into the hands of Camelot’s enemies you would be in very grave danger.”

“And what about the danger _Merlin_ is in? Have you thought about that?”

“Of course I have. You’re not the only one who’s grown attached to that boy you know.”

“Then act like it, damn it!”

The eyebrow slammed down to meet its mate as Gaius, finally showing some emotion, pursed his lips and glared at the Prince.

“Gaius, what if…what if they came after him? What if that man he calls ‘Papa’ came looking for him? Gaius, what if they took him back?”

Turning his head away, Gaius sighed deeply before he replied, “Merlin said he was dead.”

“What if Merlin was wrong? He told me what happened the day he ran away. He said the others weren’t moving but he didn’t stay for long before he ran. _He_ wasn’t killed by the attack. What if…what if his ‘Papa’ wasn’t either?”

He hadn’t said anything to Merlin, but the thought had occurred to him when Merlin had told him how he’d come to be in the woods the morning he’d found Arthur and the patrol from Camelot. Merlin had been frightened and disoriented. He hadn’t been killed…what if the others were still alive? Would they come looking for Merlin? Arthur feared he now had the answer he’d been dreading.

“Arthur, if that man has Merlin again…you _can’t_ just ride in there and demand he give Merlin back. Did he ever _tell_ you just who his ‘Papa’ was?”

Arthur shook his head. Somehow it had never occurred to him to ask Merlin who it was that had held him captive all those years. Arthur remembered the condition Merlin was in when they’d found him. It made him sick to think of that monster using Merlin again, forcing him, hurting him…

“Arthur, Merlin told me his ‘Papa’ was called _Kanen_. You can’t tell me you’ve never heard that name.”

“Of course I have, I…oh Gods.”

Kanen was infamous throughout the five kingdoms. A notorious and indiscriminate criminal, his ruthlessness was matched only by his brazen disregard for consequences that would terrify a sane man. Heading up a private army of cutthroat bandits, Kanen feared nothing and no one, even going so far (were one to believe the latest rumours) as to attack the _King of Essetir_ in _his own castle_. Whispers also spoke of a mighty magic user in Kanen’s employ, an unbeatable sorcerer whose disregard for human life was matched only by that of his employer...

_It can’t be! No, it’s not possible…he wouldn’t…but he’d said…could the deadly sorcerer be…Merlin?_

Arthur wanted to reject the idea out of hand. His Merlin could never do something like that…but he knew in his heart that while Merlin would never _want_ to hurt anyone, he could have been _made_ to do so. He’d as much as told Arthur he’d been forced to use his magic for ill purposes. It had just never occurred to Arthur _what_ those ill uses were. He hadn’t wanted to think about it.

“Arthur? Arthur, are you listening to me?”

He hadn’t been; he’d been too lost in his own horrified musings.

“Gaius, we can’t let that _monster_ have him again. What he’s done to Merlin, oh Gods, what he’s _made Merlin do!_ No. I won’t leave Merlin in that man’s hands.”

“And just what are you going to do about it? If you go walking in there alone, they’ll cut you to pieces!”

“Good to know you have such a high opinion of my abilities, Gaius.”

“Arthur, be sensible. You are a remarkable swordsman but you are still just _one man_. How are you going to take on a gang of fighters the size of Kanen’s? You’d need an army, and your father isn’t likely to lend you his.”

Throwing up his hands in frustration, Arthur glared at the old man.

“Do I really strike you as such an idiot? I don’t need to take all of them on, Gaius. I just need to get Merlin out of there. I’m not planning on marching into their midst and challenging each of them to single combat!”

“What _are_ you going to do, then?”

“I won’t know until I’m there, will I? First I have to _find_ Merlin. _Then_ I will figure out how to rescue him.”

“I don’t like this Arthur.It’s too dangerous. You’re the future King of Camelot; what will happen to the kingdom if you get yourself killed?”

Arthur looked at the man who’d been more of a father to him than the man who officially held the title. He looked deep into his mentor’s faded blue eyes and spoke with steady solemnity.

“Gaius…what kind of king would I be if I allow the man I love to be taken from me and enslaved by a ruthless monster? Do you really think Camelot would benefit from having such a coward on the throne?”

Gaius’ shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy sigh of resignation. He said nothing, just shook his head, crossed to the pantry and began pulling food out.

“You’ll need more supplies for the journey.”

Relief and gratitude loosened some of the tension coiled in Arthur’s guts.

“Thank you, Gaius.”

Gaius turned to Arthur and pulled him into a warm embrace.

“Just bring him home, and do it _safely_...then you need never thank me for anything ever again.”

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_She always sings to herself as she works, and though she’s always slightly off-key, Merlin loves the sound of her voice more than any other sound in the world. She says that singing to the medicine she makes brings out the best in it. It’s not magic, she says, just love. Secretly, Merlin thinks that Mama’s love_ is _a kind of magic but he keeps that thought to himself, a secret to be guarded like his own magic._

_Merlin knows his mama is different from the other people in their village. Everyone comes to her when they are sick, begging for herbs and tonics, poultices and potions and Mama helps them all. Mama’s medicines are made with love and everyone who comes to her for help gets a little bit of her healing love with every remedy she prescribes._

_Working at their only table, the same one they use for everything from preparing food to eating it, Mama’s bundling up the heaps of sorted herbs so that she can later hang them from the rafters to dry. There are already dozens of bundles dangling from the ceiling and the motley scents--some bitter, some sweet, still others pungent, mild, sharp, or soothing--merge and mingle in the air to produce a smell that made their home distinct from the others in the village._

_Like Mama’s off-key singing, Merlin loves the way their house smells, so different from everyone else’s. Their house is different from the rest of the village, like Mama is different from the other village women…like Merlin is different from…everyone._

_He plays on the floor while she works at the table. His dragon flies through the air, zooming around his head in circles while he makes his little doll dance on the hard packed earth. Mama made the doll for Merlin from her supply of herbs, singing softly as she worked, infusing it with her personal brand of loving magic. The hands that made the dragon belonged to the father he’s never met. Mama doesn’t ever say much about him, just that he was a good man who’d have loved Merlin very much…had he ever had a chance to meet him. Tears always well up in her eyes whenever Merlin asks about his father, so he tries not to ask very often; he hates to see Mama cry._

_“Time for bed, young man,” she says as she ties off the last bundle and rises from the table._

_Merlin protests a little, he’s just not sleepy, but Mama insists and Merlin grudgingly obeys. Mama isn’t prone to harsh words very often, but she has a way of making Merlin feel bad without being mean. When her face falls, her shoulders slump and she lets out a long, loud sigh Merlin feels worse than if she’d shouted at him._

_He climbs into their only bed, his dragon and doll clutched close to his chest. He never goes anywhere without them. Mama even made a special pouch for him to carry them in when it became clear he couldn’t bear to be parted from them. She holds the pouch out to him now, a single eyebrow raised and he sighs dramatically as he stows them safely inside. She lays the pouch beside his pillow and he covers it with one hand as he drifts off to sleep._

Merlin woke with a start, the dream still vivid in his mind for a moment, but the details were fading fast. He desperately tried to focus, to hold on to the blurring images and fleeting impressions, but most of it slid away before he could fix it in his mind. He was left with nothing more than a warm curl of affection in his chest, the lingering scent of drying herbs in his nose, and the surety that the faint voice ringing in his ears belonged to his mother. His mother…Merlin _had_ once known his mother. He was sure of it.

Kanen had always said he found Merlin abandoned as a baby, but…then Merlin had already realized that Kanen had been lying about that, hadn’t he? Merlin shook his head to try and clear it and was distracted by a sharp pinching of his neck. The old collar Kanen had forced him to wear chafed terribly and Merlin tugged at it in a futile effort to ease the irritation of the inflamed skin beneath the tight iron circle. Unable to make a significant difference in the fit, he settled for smoothing the pinched skin away from the metal with his fingertips.

The horizon was beginning to lighten with the coming of dawn and Merlin knew Kanen would be taking him back to Jarl’s stronghold later in the day, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care much at the moment. He missed his little bed in Gaius’ back room and he missed Gaius bustling in to gently roust him out of bed for a day of work. By this time, the old man would already have been in to see him once or twice, false threats of missing breakfast and dire warnings about how Merlin would regret the missing meal by the time dinner rolled around. Such threats always made Merlin smile, as if he had never missed a meal in his life, or as if Gaius would really make him miss one now.

He’d never had the luxury of regular morning meals before he’d gone to Camelot, and now he’d be lucky if Kanen bothered to feed him at all before they left for Jarl’s castle. He certainly hadn’t bothered the night before. He’d been far too busy haranguing Merlin with orders and instructions for the coming fight.

The last three days had been long and desperately boring. The night he’d returned, Kanen had dug out his old collar and locked Merlin’s magic away. It was the first time in over a month that Merlin hadn’t been able to feel magic simmering just under his skin and he _hated_ it. Having realized that he didn’t have to fear his magic, that he wasn’t some uncontrollable killing machine when his magic was free, Merlin had quickly grown accustomed to the constant tingle of energy throughout his body. He missed it terribly.

Once he’d gotten Merlin collared again, Kanen had been eager to show Merlin what he’d acquired in the warlock’s absence to “replace” him.

“Went and saw that friend of mine, you know, the sparker? The one who made your collars?” Kanen reached out to trace a finger over the runes scratched into the iron band. “Wanted to know if he could find you for us, which eventually he did. But it took him a while to find your spark, and in the meantime, you left us without any cover.”

His face grew dark and he glared at Merlin. “Did you ever think of that, you little shit? Did you ever think about the fact that you left a hole in our defenses when you ran away? Course you didn’t. You don’t ever _think_ do you? Ain’t fucking capable of thinking, got a brain the size of a fucking walnut.”

They were in Kanen’s tent and he stalked over to a chest behind his pallet.

“Well, we managed to pick up a few little gadgets to make up the shortfall.”

Pulling out a pair of crossbows, Kanen brandished one of them in Merlin’s direction.

“Now look at these beauties!” he said, practically crowing. “Got a never-ending supply of magic bolts. You don’t got to reload and once you cock it and start firing, you don’t have to even to draw the string back! It resets itself faster than you can blink!”

There were others (a sword that would deliver a paralyzing jolt of energy to its victim, a short staff with a crystal at one end that could be used to cause excruciating pain to anyone the crystal touched, and a whip with iron embedded down the length of it which could be used to bind a sparker’s power and temporarily disable him) and Kanen took great pleasure in demonstrating each on Merlin before sending for Pel to lock the aching sorcerer back in his cage for the night.

Since then, Merlin had only been let out twice a day to relieve himself. The rest of the time he just lay in his pile of blanket scraps and mangy fur staring vacantly through the bars of his cage, and was pointedly ignored by the other members of the gang. With nothing to do but think, Merlin’s thoughts naturally turned, over and over, to Arthur. What was he doing? Was he well? Was he missing Merlin half as much as Merlin missed him? Merlin was torn between hoping Arthur was missing him and wishing the prince would simply forget him.

Merlin had left Camelot to keep Arthur (and Gaius) safe. So long as Kanen was alive, Merlin could never return. His mere existence was a danger to them. The dragon had told Merlin it was his destiny to protect Arthur and by returning to Kanen, he was protecting Arthur the best he could.

But knowing that didn’t make the ache of his loss any easier to bear. It felt to Merlin as if half his heart and all of his soul had been torn from him. Bereft of Arthur, Merlin felt only half the man he _should_ be.

Heartsick and despondent, Merlin lay still and silent and let the world drift by his open eyes in an apathetic haze.


	10. Chapter 9

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Kanen _hadn’t_ bothered to feed Merlin before they left and his grumbling stomach just added to his general state of misery as he rode out at Kanen’s side later that morning. Dreading the coming fight, Merlin tried not to think about it. Instead, he struggled to remember the dream he’d been having before he woke up that morning.

The details remained frustratingly vague, but the sense of his mother remained distinct. He was sure it hadn’t just been a dream…it had been a _memory_.

It didn’t _surprise_ Merlin to know that Kanen had lied to him his whole life…but it did make him angry. He glanced at the man from the corner of his eye, and what he saw only added to his irritation. Kanen looked _smug_...clearly anticipating the money he’d make off Merlin’s magic today…the way he’d always made money by using Merlin’s magic.

One of the only things Merlin _could_ remember from his dream with any clarity was the way he’d used magic to make his dragon fly…the same dragon now riding in the pouch at his hip along with the brittle, crumbling remains of the herb-doll he’d treasured his whole life…the doll he’d made dance in his dream…using magic. Merlin had always had magic, but he _hadn’t_ always belonged to Kanen. Though nothing else from the dream was clear, _that_ much was.

Merlin’s anger and frustration grew along with the growling in his stomach. By the time they’d reached Jarl’s stronghold, Merlin’s head was pounding and his blood was boiling. As had happened the first time, they left Pel and Garret’s replacement--Maedoc, he was called--behind when they were admitted into the castle and led down to the arena.

The roaring sound of the waiting crowd was what finally caused Merlin’s temper to break. Stopping short in the corridor, he waited until Kanen noticed his absence and turned to look for him before he spoke, the question rumbling from his throat in a low growl.

“You didn’t find me in the street, did you?”

“What?” Kanen was visibly startled both by the question and Merlin’s tone of voice.

“I said, you didn’t find me in the street as a baby,” he gritted through tightly clenched teeth.

Kanen’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You calling me a liar? _Me?_ ”

Merlin glared into Kanen’s flinty hazel eyes, too inflamed to be intimidated by the outrage in the older man’s voice.

“Tell me about my mother!” he practically shouted, his frustration mounting by the moment. If it hadn’t been for the ring of iron circling his throat he’d have probably turned his magic on Kanen in that moment.

“Your mother,” Kanen sneered. “Your mother. Again? Over and over, _My mummy! My mummy! Tell me about my mummy!’_ All right! You _really_ want to know about your mother? She was a whore! She was a whore and _you_ were bad for business. Hangin’ off her bloody ankle all the time, scaring off the Johns with your stupid little magic tricks and freaky glowing eyes. She wanted shot of you so I took you. That’s it, end of story.”

The vehemence in Kanen’s voice stunned Merlin; he didn’t sound like he was lying this time…and it made a horrible kind of sense. Kanen regularly consorted with prostitutes. If Merlin’s mother had been an honourable sort of woman, how would Kanen even have known her? The man didn’t have even a _passing_ acquaintance with respectability.

A whore…he’d always day-dreamed and fantasized about who his mother might have been…even when he’d thought he’d been abandoned, Merlin had always thought up reasons for it…maybe his mother had died and he’d been left behind…maybe he’d been lost, not abandoned, and maybe his mother was still out there, still missing him, still looking for him…the reality was not nearly so comforting.

“You done with the questions, Bitch? Or you want to shoot your mouth off some more?”

Slumping in defeat, Merlin shook his head. He was sorry that he’d asked, sorry he’d forced the issue. It would have been better to cling to a vague and pretty dream than learn such a bitter truth.

“We’re gonna talk about this some more later,” Kanen said, a threat implicit in his voice. “I want to know who it is been filling your head with nonsense. You’re getting ballsy again. You remember what happened last time you let your balls get in the way of your brain?”

Merlin shuddered as memory assaulted him _…teeth ripping his skin…hands crushing his throat…pain knifing through his guts…blood smeared on bitten lips…_ He would never forget. 

“I can see you do. Don’t forget, Bitch. Don’t you forget, not for one minute, who you belong to. You’re my _Bitch_...and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Nodding miserably, Merlin fell to heel and followed Kanen into the underground arena.

Darker than Merlin remembered, the rails around the fighting pit were lined with well-dressed men and women-all of them baying for blood at the top of their lungs. Dramatic puffs of coloured smoke were rising from the fighting ring and Merlin could make out intense bursts of light flashing between the writhing bodies jammed against the railings.

Jarl met them with a wide grin, and an enthusiastic shout, “Kanen! You’re back!”

Back slapping and shaking hands, the two men came together like bosom companions who’d been parted for years. The greetings were a bit over-hearty and everyone was aware of it, but it was, in its own way, a delicate dance of power they engaged in. Each had something the other wanted and both sought to gain greater advantage over their adversary without sacrificing the appearance of neutrality.

Merlin had never really paid much heed to Kanen’s machinations before, and was a bit surprised by how easily he could read both men now.

“I was thrilled to get your message,” Jarl said with a hand to Kanen’s shoulder. “Never thought we’d see you again.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” Kanen moved alongside Jarl and the two men began walking toward a reserved spot in the gallery above the fight. Merlin shuffled along behind them, close at Kanen’s heel.

“Cenred’s been telling everyone he had you killed,” Jarl said, eyes sliding from Kanen to Merlin. ”Along with your little pet over there.”

For a moment, Kanen looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly.

“Has he now? Well, I think he’s been spinning you a bit of a yarn. As you can see, we’re both alive and well.”

“And ready to fight I hope?” Jarl said, staring at Merlin intently.

Merlin ignored him, keeping his eyes trained on the floor in his usual show of submission. He was still reeling from Kanen’s revelations… _she was a_ whore _…you were bad for business…I took you…_

Literally yanked from his reverie when Kanen gripped him by the arm and pulled, Merlin jerked back to awareness as Kanen’s chest slammed into his own. Looking up, he flinched reflexively from the fury he saw smoldering in Kanen’s eyes.

“I said...isn’t that right, Merlin?” Clearly having missed part of the conversation and even more clearly expected to agree with whatever it was he hadn’t heard Kanen say, Merlin rapidly nodded his accord.

“Excellent!” Jarl grinned, the expression sharp and predatory. “Why don’t we put your boy up next, eh?”

There were two sparkers fighting down in the pit and Kanen pulled Merlin in front of him, curling hard hands over Merlin’s shoulders to direct his attention. “Look,” he commanded, “See? Now that’s the kind of show they’re looking for, right?”

One of the sorcerers, a tall, majestic looking man with a flowing red beard, held a long staff in both hands. Bolt after bolt of sizzling white energy blasted from the tip as his opponent ducked and dodged each attack with a strange, sinuous grace. Merlin focused his attention on the graceful, elusive sparker. At first glance he appeared to be at a disadvantage, but Merlin instinctively pegged the strange looking man as the more dangerous of the two.

Dressed head to foot in tight, green snakeskin, his head was shaved bald and every inch of it was tattooed with a yellow-green pattern of scales. He began to dart in and out, getting closer and closer to the taller sorcerer with each feint. Though he was physically striking his adversary with his hands, the snaky sparker’s eyes were glowing with an eerie yellow light. His appearance might have been a bit over-the-top but Merlin could sense _real_ power in the little feinting strikes he was aiming at his visibly flagging opponent.

Merlin hated this, hated the senselessness of it. What were these men fighting over? Money? Were either of them fighting for themselves or were they, like Merlin, forced to fight by someone who had power over them? And that was an interesting thought in and of itself…really, what power _did_ Kanen have over Merlin, anyway? Why was he even here?

Pel’s threats had frightened him back in Camelot, had touched that terrified little boy that he’d once been. And he hadn’t wanted to put those he loved in danger.The thought that Kanen and his goons might discover where Merlin had been, that they might threaten Arthur and Gaius, had made him sick inside. But now? Really, what could Kanen do to him, now? What threat could be so bad that going down in that pit to murder yet another man in cold blood was the _better_ alternative?

The serpentine sorcerer struck again and this time the red-haired sparker went stiff, fell to the ground and began convulsing. Watching with a vaguely detached sense of horrified fascination, Merlin’s attention was abruptly diverted when Kanen’s hands tightened on his shoulders. He growled into Merlin’s ear, “Time for you to put on a show. Don’t let me down, _Bitch_.”

For a moment, fear tightened Merlin’s gut at the sound of the hated nickname. Then Kanen twisted the lock open on his collar and freed Merlin’s magic. _Merlin’s_ magic. It belonged to _him_ , not to Kanen. He had a choice, and he was making it now.

“I won’t.”

Kanen seemed surprised that he’d answered at all, but when he pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded, Merlin knew he hadn’t been understood.

“All right then, you see that you don’t and we might even see about buying you one of them books you were wanting so badly.”

“No. I won’t _fight_.”

“What?” Kanen’s voice was sharp with disbelief.

“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”

“Now you listen here, Bitch! Hurtin’ people’s what you do. It’s the _only_ thing you do! It’s all a rabid fuckin’ dog like you is good for.”

Leaning in close with a snarl on his face, Kanen looked as intimidating as ever, but Merlin found that he was no longer afraid of him.

“I’m not a dog. And I’m not fighting anymore.”

“Like hell, you’re not! You get your arse-“

“Problems, Kanen?” a gravelly voice interrupted. Kanen’s head whipped around, but Merlin merely had glance aside to see Jarl right there at Kanen’s elbow, his gaze intense and meaningful.

“No, not at all. Just ah, you know, coming up with a plan of action!” Kanen denied, sounding a touch desperate.

“Good. Hope you’re ready, ‘cause your boy is up.”

“Oh, no worries. Just give us another minute, will ya? Just a bit of last minute nerves here, you know?” Kanen’s smile was wide, but anyone with eyes could see the strain beneath it.

“Not too long, eh? This lot ain’t exactly the patient sort, if you catch my drift,” Jarl replied, looking Kanen over with a dubious eye.

“Yeah, no problem. Just another couple of seconds.”

Jarl nodded and walked away and Kanen twisted a fistful of Merlin’s tunic in his hands and hissed at him, “I don’t know who’s been whispering this shit in your ear, but I swear to all that’s fucking holy...If you screw this up for me, come morning I will have your roasted balls for my breakfast. You got that, Bitch? Now move!”

Merlin shook his head and pulled away. He wasn’t going; he didn’t care what Kanen threatened him with. Merlin turned away, intending to just walk out, but he should have known better. Kanen would never let Merlin walk away from him, not in a million years.

“You’ll do as I say!” Kanen snapped. In one furious move, he grabbed Merlin by the arm, hauled him around, and shoved him forward. The next thing Merlin knew, he was sailing through the air, plummeting head first toward the sand-covered floor of the fighting pit. 

With a flash of his eyes, Merlin willed the sand to soften beneath him. He just managed to duck his head before he crashed into it, shoulder first. Tumbling to dissipate the force of the impact, he rolled to his feet coming to a stop less than an arm’s length in front of the snakelike sorcerer. Snaky didn’t hesitate for a second, reaching out to strike Merlin in the solar plexus with both hands. Merlin staggered back, a burning pain blooming in his chest and radiating through the rest of his body. The sensation was highly unnatural; Merlin had taken body blows before, a lot of them, and none of them had never felt like this.

He looked up and saw a smirk on Snaky’s face and realized that the man’s bizarre appearance was a clue to his power. With each strike of his hands, he injected his victim with a powerful, _magical_ venom. However, from what Merlin had witnessed, the sparker needed to be in physical contact with his opponent to have an effect on him. Fighting off a wave of dizzy-making pain and nausea, Merlin decided he’d best not be there the next time Snaky struck.

Darting away from Snaky’s next attack, Merlin was careful to keep the man in front of him at all times. They circled each other, one seeking to attack, the other seeking only to evade while the crowd above them howled for blood. Keeping an eye on Snaky at all times, Merlin tried to purge the poison from his blood while he searched around the pit looking for a means to escape. There had been stairs leading down into the pit the last time Merlin had been there, but it seemed they’d since been removed.

“What’s he doing!?” Jarl shouted at Kanen, watching the non-fight below with disgust.

“You wanted a show; he’s giving you a show,” Kanen blustered defensively.

“I wanted a _fight_ , you bloody wanker! Look at him! He ain’t doing nothing!”

“He’s just toying with him,” Kanen replied dismissively.

“Yeah? I think it’s time someone toyed with _him_ instead.”

Thumb and pinkie to his mouth, Jarl whistled shrilly. A man and woman, sparkers judging from their flamboyant appearances, presented themselves in response to the call. Jarl looked at them and jerked his head toward the pit.

“Get that miserable little cur,” he ordered.

Both nodded in unison and leapt over the low railing and down into the pit to join the combatants below.

Merlin had finally determined that there was only one of two ways he was getting out of the pit. Either he killed his opponent and they’d throw down some kind of rope or ladder from above, or he’d have to magic his way out. Since he had no intention of killing Snaky, he was gathering himself to attempt the fifteen foot jump when two more sparkers suddenly landed in the sand beside him.

The black-haired woman struck first. Clad head to toe in strange garments of fine metal mesh, almost like a suit of very light chainmail, she shot a small bolt of sizzling white energy at Merlin from one outflung hand. Merlin dove forward into a somersault, avoiding the blast and rolling past the metal-clad sorceress.

However, as soon as he bounced upright, something grabbed him by the ankle and jerked him off his feet. Landing on his face in the dirt, Merlin felt a blow to his back from the unseen assailant. Merlin rolled away, narrowly avoiding another blow, sand flying up from the spot where he’d been just a second before. 

Springing to his feet, Merlin backed away as a whirling spout of sand burst into the air in front of him. A dark-skinned sparker with glowing orange eyes and a gleeful expression controlled the dust devil. He was most likely Merlin’s unseen attacker.

Intent on the apparent Air-master, Merlin forgot that Snaky was lurking in the pit behind him until he felt a hand touch his shoulder and pain exploded down his right side. Merlin jerked around with a roar of torment, and blasted Snaky with the raw unfocused power of his will alone. _Get away!_ his mind screamed and suddenly Snaky was gone, thrown off his feet to land in the sand ten feet away.

Turning to face the other two sparkers, Merlin wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting zapped by another bolt of energy from the steel-clad sorceress. His body snapped taut, his spine arching like a bow, driving him to his knees. Short of breath, Merlin fought the pain and tried to focus.

For one moment, Merlin could hear Kanen’s voice rise above the roar of the crowd, “Merlin! Fight back, you stupid bitch! Fight back or you’re gonna die!” and he realized that Kanen was right. Avoidance was getting him nowhere. He might not want to kill his opponents, but that certainly wouldn’t stop them from killing him.

The steel-clad sorceress and the Air-master were converging on Merlin and would be on him in seconds. To give himself time, he willed the ground to open up beneath them both. The sorceress went down with a yelp, buried to the neck in the sand floor but the Air-master was quick enough to leap clear with a bit of a push from the Element at his command. He came to rest about an inch above the ground, but he was still _down_. Merlin didn’t hesitate to strike again sending a white-hot bolt of crackling energy arcing across the open space. It struck and the Air-master convulsed and fell the rest of the way to the ground.

Taking advantage of Merlin’s distraction, Snaky made to strike again, coming at Merlin from the side. Merlin saw him coming, and this time instead of trying to avoid his adversary, Merlin reached out to grab the other sparker as he struck. Catching Snaky around the neck, Merlin wrapped his long fingers around the man’s throat and squeezed, digging his nails in until they broke the skin. 

Snaky had a hand to either side of Merlin’s ribs and the venom was flowing unchecked into his body as he sought a way to disable his attacker without killing him. He started with the power Snaky was forcing into him, surrounding it with his own and shoving it back at its master. Snaky cried out as his own venom began to seep back inside him. Now to keep the sparker from using it again.

The scent of blood reached Merlin’s nostrils, the iron tang of it putting him in mind of the succession of collars he’d been forced to wear his whole life. Iron. Iron bound magic and human blood was _full_ of iron...

Gaius had taught him how a binding worked, why it was always _iron_ used to bind a sorcerer’s magic. The iron in a binding collar called to the iron in the blood, the magic in the collar charged the blood-iron and the runes shaped the charge. This turned the sorcerer’s own blood against him as the charged blood-iron acted like a magnet, pulling the magic in and holding on to it so that the sorcerer could no longer use it. 

Merlin didn’t access to forged iron but he _did_ have access to Snaky’s iron-rich blood.

Gouging into the tattooed skin of the sparker’s neck, Merlin clawed a bloody ring right around it then sent a surge of power through the abraded flesh. The man screamed as all the iron in his blood began to burn.

It wouldn’t be a permanent binding, for that he’d need the sorcerer’s True Name but it wasn’t hard to determine that the Elemental basis of the man’s power, the serpent being an absolute creature of Earth. Gaius had taught him the runic symbols for each of the four major Elements and Merlin had diligently memorized them all. Using the man’s blood he quickly painted the runes for Water, Air and Fire around his neck and felt it the instant the binding took shape.

Merlin released the bound sorcerer who clutched at his throat whimpering in confusion. Regarding Merlin with terrified eyes, he inched away on his bottom, tears trickling down his scale-patterned face.

The yelling and shouting from the crowd above subsided for a moment as Snaky crawled away, then turned to muttering and catcalls as Merlin turned his attention to the trapped sorceress. They wanted to see a _dead_ sparker, not a defeated one.

Steely spit curses and defiance at him as he approached but was helpless to stop him as he scratched a circle around her neck and used her own blood to bind her magic. She didn’t scream like Snaky but she bit her lip, swallowing a sob as magic heated the iron in her blood. When the binding took, Merlin could see the tears welling in her clear green eyes and knowing exactly what she was feeling, took pity on her.

“It will come back,” he whispered in her ear before he straightened up and stepped away.

Restless, the crowd at the rails had begun shouting and screaming again but it wasn’t the enthusiastic cheering from before. They were angry now, screaming for satisfaction and baying for blood. Merlin was fairly certain he could hear Kanen’s voice bellowing his name along with a litany of insults and threats but he ignored them all and turned his attention to the Air-master.

The man hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d dropped and Merlin sincerely hoped that he hadn’t killed him by accident. Not having had the opportunity to examine the man closely before, Merlin finally got a good look at the man as he crouched beside him and checked him for signs of life.

Mahogany-dark skin and finely chiseled features were framed by thick waves of shiny black hair. A pencil thin mustache helped highlight the man’s sensuous lips, straight nose, square jaw and high cheekbones. Merlin mused for a moment, it was a pity such a handsome man was living such an ugly life. Moments later Merlin sighed in relief when he saw the man’s chest rise gently and fall again. He _hadn’t_ killed him after all. As Merlin reached out toward the Air-master’s neck, his eyes fell on a sheathed dagger strapped to his adversary’s leg. He slipped the blade free and weighed it in his hand for a moment.

“That’s it Merlin! Kill him!” Kanen’s voice roared at him from above.

He shook his head slightly, more for himself than for Kanen. He wasn’t killing anyone, certainly not the helpless man lying unconscious on the ground before him. Gripping the dagger tight, Merlin carefully scribed a shallow circle into the skin of the man’s neck. As soon as Merlin sealed his hands over the blood collar and began feeding power into it, the Air-master woke. Liquid brown eyes blinked in confusion then widened in panic as he felt Merlin’s magic course through his body. He began to thrash and fight but could not break Merlin’s hold in time.

“Fucking _kill him_ Merlin!!” Kill him, _now!_!”

Finished with the binding, Merlin got up and offered the Air-master his hand. The man waved him away and sat up on his own. Kanen continued to rage above them and finally Merlin turned and looked up to meet his furious glare.

“Kill him or they’re gonna kill me!”

He must have seen in Merlin’s eyes how little that thought bothered him, because Kanen turned, and shoved someone out of his way, momentarily stalking out of sight. Returning a few seconds later, Kanen hefted a crossbow in his arms and aimed it into the pit.

“Someone’s got to die and it ain’t gonna be me!” Kanen shouted and pulled the trigger.

Expecting Kanen to shoot at _him_ Merlin was prepared to protect himself. It came as a shock when the bolt flew right past his head, striking somewhere behind him with a sickening thud. Whirling around, Merlin saw the Air-master feebly clutching at the bolt-shaft protruding from his neck. He thrashed helplessly for a few seconds before going slack and slumping over dead.

Thoroughly enraged, Merlin leaped from the pit to land toe-to-toe with Kanen.

“I said no more killing!” he screamed in Kanen’s face. Snatching the crossbow away, Merlin pulverized it with a thought and shoved past Kanen, intent on leaving and never coming back.

Kanen grabbed him by the wrist as he slid past and held on tight. “I say when the killing stops, not you, Bitch!”

Merlin threw him off with a burst of power, watching as Kanen fell to the floor. Standing over his former master, Merlin’s chest heaved with fury as he spit back, “Not anymore.”

This time when Merlin made for the exit, no one tried to stop him. The sparker standing guard stepped away from the doorway and sketched Merlin a mocking little bow, knowing smirk upon his face.

Pel and Maedoc were nowhere to be seen when Merlin emerged from the underground passage and the two guards on duty didn’t say a word as he stalked past them and left the castle. Still too angry to wonder at the ease of his escape, Merlin made for the crumbling gate and the shelter of the woods beyond.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

As Arthur lay in the tall grass at the edge of the woods surrounding Jarl’s stronghold, the last person he’d expected to emerge from the gates was the very man he’d come there to look for.

“Merlin!” he called out and saw the tall, spindly warlock stiffen up and spin around in his direction.

Scrambling to his feet Arthur snatched up his crossbow and slid down a shallow embankment to land on the road a few feet from where Merlin stood gaping.

“ _Arthur?_ ” Merlin’s tone was incredulous, his too-blue eyes widened to their fullest extent.

“Merlin! Thank the gods I’ve found you!” Arthur exclaimed, happily clasping his arms around Merlin to lift him in a bear hug.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin’s voice was muffled against Arthur’s chest.

Now it was Arthur’s turn to gape. Drawing back he exclaimed, “What do you think I’m doing here, you idiot? I came to find you.”

Merlin pushed against his chest, and Arthur loosened his arms and let him go but Merlin kept shoving him. Turning Arthur back toward the trees, the slender boy pushed him into a walk and Arthur allowed himself to be manhandled away from the road.

“You have to go…you can’t…how did you even get here?” Merlin sputtered at him as he shoved Arthur back up the embankment.

“I rode my horse to the border then walked the rest of the way.”

“You know what I meant!” Merlin blurted in frustration.

“Merlin, we found you only a couple of leagues from here. You were wearing a slave collar and Jarl is the biggest slaver in western Essetir. Seemed like a sensible place to start.”

“Fine, whatever, Arthur, you have to go. It’s not safe here, if anyone sees you with me-”

At that, Arthur dug his heels into the soft earth and refused to put another foot forward. Merlin pressed his hands into Arthur’s back and shoved harder but couldn’t budge Arthur’s bulkier frame. There was no way in hell Arthur was returning to Camelot alone. He clamped a hand around Merlin’s skinny upper arm and glared into his bright blue eyes.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Merlin averted his gaze, his features pinching up in distress.

“Arthur…don’t.”

Stomach clenching with apprehension, Arthur demanded, “Why not?”

Though he still refused to meet Arthur’s eyes, Merlin’s tone was implacable when he replied,

“I don’t’ want you here, you should never have come. You need to go back.”

A cold wave of nausea rolled through Arthur’s gut at the rejection. _Merlin didn’t want him?_

“You said you loved me,” Arthur accused.

“I do!” Merlin exclaimed, indignation radiating from every pore.

Arthur was confused. Merlin seemed genuinely outraged by the implication that he’d been lying about loving Arthur, but then…why was Merlin trying to get rid of him?

“Then come back with me.”

Face crumpling miserably, Merlin’s voice turned pleading, “It’s not safe, _I’m_ not safe to be around. Please Arthur!”

Arthur shook his head.

“I don’t care. I can take care of myself. I can take care of _you_. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

His mouth tightened as he fingered the chafed, reddened skin around Merlin’s neck.

“It was him, wasn’t it? Kanen. He wasn’t dead after all.”

In other circumstances, Merlin’s slack-jawed shock would have been comical.

“How did you…?”

As it was, there was nothing amusing about the situation…at all.

“Gaius told me.”

Merlin jerked away and gave Arthur his back. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. His voice was muffled but his words were clear enough,

“He should have told you _not to come!_ Do you know who Kanen is? What he’s capable of?”

Of course he knew, did Merlin think him an idiot?

“I know who he is. I know what he does, and that’s why I’m not leaving you behind.”

With his back still to Arthur, Merlin just shook his head back and forth in a mute but unmistakable refusal.

 

“You want me to go back to Camelot? Then come with me,” Arthur demanded. Reaching out to grab Merlin by the arm, he tugged until the warlock turned to face him.

“Arthur-“

Placing a finger across Merlin’s lips to stop his protests, Arthur tried persuasion next.

“You told me the dragon said that we are destined for each other.”

Merlin ducked his head away, pouting even as he protested.

“He also said that I’m meant to keep you _safe_ , Arthur!”

Arthur could see the longing in Merlin’s eyes, and he leaned in for a kiss, hoping a reminder of the irresistible attraction they had for each other would be enough to tip the scales in his favour.

“We’ll keep each other safe, yeah?”

For a long time, Merlin didn’t say anything, just looked into Arthur’s eyes-a little wrinkle of indecision between his own. Finally he let out a deep sigh, nodded and squeezed Arthur’s hands.

“Yeah,” was all he said, but it was enough. 

Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms and let out a sigh of relief when Merlin’s arms came up to circle him in return. It was only a quick embrace but it reassured Arthur like nothing else could have. Hand in hand, they turned and headed back the way Arthur had come, through the trees toward the border and Camelot.

 _Together_ , they made for home.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Engaged in stirring the savoury lamb stew he was making for supper, Gaius was startled by a sharp knock on his chamber door. He turned from the fire just in time to see the door swing open and Prince Arthur barge through it, towing a battered, droopy looking Merlin behind him.

“Merlin! Arthur! You’re back!” He bustled forward to meet them, concerned by Merlin’s listless posture. “Are you all right, Merlin? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, his teeth coming out to worry at his lower lip. Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulder and tugged the warlock close to his side.

“‘m all right,” Merlin muttered, “not hurt.”

But the boy looked utterly miserable despite Arthur’s comforting embrace.

“What happened Merlin?” Gaius asked, afraid of what might have befallen the boy before Arthur had gotten to him. He braced himself to hear that Merlin had been assaulted again, he certainly looked a bit worse for wear, though nowhere _near_ as bad as he had when they’d first discovered him. Or, noting the reddened, irritated skin of Merlin’s neck, Gaius thought perhaps the boy was upset because he’d again been made to turn his powers to ill purposes. Any number of terrible things could have happened to put Merlin in such a state and Gaius ran through several likely scenarios in his head while Merlin struggled to articulate his distress. 

He really wasn’t expecting Merlin to say, “I f-found out…I found out my mother was a whore!” all in a rush before bursting out in tears.

“Oh Merlin!” He moved forward and Arthur relinquished his hold on Merlin so that Gaius could enfold the sobbing boy in his arms. “Your mother was- _is_ no such thing.”

Merlin shook his head.

“But Kanen said…how do you-? Wait! _Is?_ What do you mean, _is_ no such thing?” Merlin sputtered, eyes wide, reddened mouth working to find words.

Gaius chuckled a bit, letting Merlin go and fishing a handkerchief from inside his sleeve. Handing it over to the boy, he led him over to a bench by the hearth. Settling down beside him, Gaius began,

“Not long after your arrival, I began to suspect I might know who you were. Some things you said, Merlin…remember you told me about your dreams? Well, it made me wonder but there was no way for me to really be certain…until I went to speak to Kilgharrah and he confirmed my suspicions.”

“Kilgharrah?” Arthur asked looking confused, glancing at Merlin who merely blinked blankly at the name.

“The Great Dragon,” Gaius clarified for them both.

Merlin burst out, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t _he_ tell me?!”

“I can’t speak for Kilgharrah but I hesitated because it’s been years since I last heard from your mother. I didn’t know if she was even still alive. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case she wasn’t. I needed to know for sure, so I wrote to her.”

“And?” Merlin demanded eagerly.

“And I’ve only just had the letter back from her _after_ you disappeared.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Arthur cut in.

“Again, because I only received it _after_ you went tearing off looking for Merlin.”

“Ah.” Arthur subsided.

“Is she? Is she alive? My mother?” Merlin asked, a quiver in his voice.

“She is Merlin and I assure you, she is not now nor has she ever been a whore.”

“Can I see it, can I see the letter?” Merlin begged, his voice desperate and eager all at once.

“Yes, though I didn’t tell her about you yet so there’s no mention of you in there.”

Retrieving the letter from a dresser-drawer, Gaius handed it to Merlin who accepted it with trembling hands.

“My mother can read and write too?”

“Oh yes, your mother is quite a learned woman. In fact, she’s the herbalist for a small village in Essetir called Ealdor. That’s how I know her, Merlin. Many years ago, long before you were born, I trained her in her craft. She was a wonderful girl, one of the very brightest young healers I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.”

Grinning from one prominent ear to the other, Merlin looked more delighted with every word Gaius spoke.

“I knew your father as well.”

Gaius would have thought it impossible for Merlin to look any happier but he’d have been wrong. Sitting up even straighter in his seat, Merlin leaned forward almost _quivering_ with excitement.

“Yeah? What was he like? Is he still alive? Is he in Ealdor with my mother?”

“He was a great man, a Dragonlord in fact. I’m fairly certain you got your magic from him as Hunith hasn’t a single spark of magic to call her own. He was a good friend.”

Merlin’s face fell.

“Was?”

Nodding sadly, Gaius gave Merlin’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I haven’t heard from him since before you were born Merlin. No one has. I’m afraid that the king deemed the art of the Dragonlord too close to magic and he had them all hunted down and killed. I helped your father escape, sent him to your mother for shelter but Uther’s men tracked him as far as Ealdor and he was forced to flee again. He never even knew your mother was pregnant with you.”

“Oh…that’s…”

Merlin looked so dejected, Gaius ached for him.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said, a note of distress audible in his quiet tone.

“Why should you be sorry?” Merlin seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Because…my father…”

“It’s not _your_ fault. You’re not responsible for anything your father’s done. You aren’t like him.” Merlin declared vehemently, tugging Arthur’s hand until the prince allowed himself to be enveloped in a fierce embrace.

With Arthur practically sitting in his lap, Merlin kissed a corner of the prince’s mouth and murmured something Gaius didn’t catch into his ear. The physician found himself fighting a grin at the picture the two made. Merlin looked up over Arthur’s shoulder, caught his eye and blushed. Ducking his head against Arthur’s chest he muttered some more before looking up to address Gaius once more.

“Do you think…could I…do you think maybe I could visit her sometime? My mother? Do you think she’d want to see me?”

“Oh Merlin, she’ll want to see you more than anything in the world. She’s never stopped hoping you might return to her someday.”

And as quickly as the words were spoken, Merlin’s bright smile and eager enthusiasm were restored.

“When can I go?” he asked, eyes shining.

“You mean when can _we_ go,” Arthur corrected him.

“You want to come?”

Merlin threw his arms around Arthur and squeezed hard, communicating very clearly what he thought of the idea.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Nor would I,” Gaius chimed in.

“It…that will be my whole family in one place!” Merlin beamed, Arthur kissed him and Gaius nodded in approval.

“Tell me more about my parents,” Merlin begged, so Gaius did. Over dinner and late into the night, he told story after story about a mischievous young healer with a heart of gold and a powerful young warlock who communed with dragons.


	11. Chapter 10

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When there had still been no sign of pursuit almost two weeks after Merlin returned to Camelot he’d begun to relax. Maybe Kanen finally _got it_ after Merlin walked out on him at the fight. _Merlin was done_ with acting like an animal. He wasn’t Kanen’s dog anymore. Never again would Merlin be an indiscriminate killer.

Merlin was resolved to make Camelot his home, despite the obvious disadvantages for someone with his gifts. He had a place here, a wonderful lover, a solid purpose and a magnificent destiny to strive for. He’d never been meant for the kind of life that Kanen had made him live, he’d been meant for _Arthur_. If Kilgharrah were to be believed, they were two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole, incomplete without each other and Merlin had _always_ been meant to have a hand in building the future of not only Camelot, but _all_ of Albion at Arthur’s side. The dragon’s words felt right to Merlin, and so he chose to believe him.

He was settling well into his role as Gaius’ assistant and though he spent as much time as possible with Arthur, some days it just didn’t seem to be enough. Arthur seemed to feel the same and lately had begun to mention “making plans” (whatever that meant) to ensure that Merlin would be able to stay by him _all_ the time. He had no idea what Arthur’s schemes involved, but he didn’t worry much about it. He trusted his prince.

Lost in his thoughts of _destiny_ and _Arthur_ , Merlin was stepping from Gaius’ chambers into the courtyard, on his way to fetch some water when he caught a flash of something out the corner of his eye. Scanning the bustling courtyard it only took seconds for him to discover what it was. Kanen. Kanen, a naked blade flashing in his hand. He caught sight of Merlin just a moment later and a cruel, mocking smile curled up the corners of his mouth. 

Never taking his eyes off Merlin, Kanen opened his mouth to speak, but he was too far away for Merlin to make out what he said. However, a dozen or so men and women close by reacted, turning as one to stare hungrily in Merlin’s direction. His stomach cramped and his heart began to pound. Dropping the empty bucket he’d been holding, Merlin spun on his heel and pelted back the way he’d come.

 

He had to warn Gaius, had to warn Arthur! He had to keep them _safe_.

Seconds later he burst into Gaius’ chambers startling both prince and physician.

“Merlin! What is it?” Arthur exclaimed as Merlin grabbed him by the arm and started pulling.

“There’s no time to explain!” Merlin said as he took Gaius by the shoulder and spun him toward the open pantry door. “Get in!”

Shoving Gaius ahead of him and pulling Arthur behind, Merlin did his best to stuff them both in the pantry as quickly as possible. He _had_ to get them out of sight! He couldn’t let Kanen _see them_ , couldn’t let him know how precious they were to Merlin.

“Hold on, just hold on Merlin!” Gaius exclaimed as he stumbled into the crowded little alcove. “What’s going on?”

Arthur dug in his heels and refused to get in the closet. Being larger and far heavier than Merlin, there was no way the warlock was going to get him in that closet short of using magic to force him.

“He’s here!” Merlin exclaimed in frustration.

“Who’s here, Merlin?” Arthur asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Papa! Kanen! He’s here! You _have_ to hide!”

“Surely you’re not planning to confront him Merlin?” Gaius demanded, eyebrows lowered in worried censure.

“No! Yes! I don’t know. Just . _Get. In._ ” he tried another shove to get Arthur moving but it wasn’t happening. Arthur wouldn’t budge and there was _no time._

Arthur shook his head and backed away, unsheathing the dagger he always had strapped to his belt. “Oh no, you can’t think for one minute I’d let you face him alone?”

“This is not your fight, Arthur. Please! You have to hide. He can’t see you!”

But Arthur wasn’t listening; he was already headed for the door.

“Gaius, please. Stay here,” he begged the old man as he shut the pantry door in his face and ran after Arthur.

“Arthur, wait-“ Merlin shouted as he hurtled into the corridor, only to pull up short when he saw the motley mob approaching from the direction of the courtyard. 

The prince was standing still, his face was calm, and his grip on the dagger relaxed and confident. He displayed not a trace of fear, indeed, his eyes were lit with a fierce determination and a cold kind of anticipation. This was a side of Arthur that Merlin had never seen before…Arthur, the Warrior.

But warrior or no, Arthur was no match for half a dozen sparkers and even more men armed with what were likely magical weapons. Kanen wouldn’t bother sending magic-less men after _Merlin_. He knew better, even if Arthur didn’t seem to.

Merlin slithered past Arthur and stepped in front of him protectively. “Arthur, go back,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative in a way he never knew it could be.

“No. Way,” Arthur returned flatly. “Remember our pact? We _keep each other safe._ ”

And then there was no more time for arguing as the first sparker stepped forward, both hands extended to send a pulse of power through the air. Merlin sensed it coming and had just enough time to throw his own hand up, forcing the shockwave to part and flow around him. He remained unaffected although Arthur was knocked off his feet by a glancing blow from the trailing edge.

Merlin grabbed a nearby torch and blew a steady stream of air across the flaming end, sending a sheet of fire streaming toward their attackers. Reaching behind him with one hand, he dragged Arthur to his feet and shoved him back several steps. Holding the torch in front of him, Merlin continued to blow on it, keeping the stream of fire steady as he backed down the corridor.

When he felt there was enough space between them and the aggressive sparkers, Merlin hurled the torch forward in an enormous ball of flames, grabbed Arthur’s hand and sprinted away from the conflagration. Looking back over his shoulder as they ran, Merlin could see even more attackers pouring into the corridor in the wake of their flight. Arthur was ahead of him now, tugging on Merlin’s wrist to lead the way. Grimly, Merlin set his jaw and followed hard on his heels.

Moments later, Arthur ducked through an open doorway and Merlin plunged after him to emerge, blinking, into bright sunlight and warm summer air. Glancing around, he quickly realized that Arthur had led them to one of the interior courtyards. A lovely little walled garden, in fact, where the two of them had passed many a romantic evening together.

He took half a second to appreciate Arthur’s choice of battleground. The walled enclosure gave them more room to maneuver than the narrow corridor had afforded but wasn’t so large a space that their attackers could outflank them if they put their backs together. Open to the sky, it also gave Merlin access to the natural elements that responded so well to his commands.

Half a second was all the time Merlin had to assess his new surroundings before their attackers were on them once again. The first sparker through the door hurled a glowing ball of yellow energy straight at Arthur and when Merlin leapt sideways to deflect it, the rest of the aggressors poured into the garden to surround them. 

It felt utterly natural to press his back to Arthur’s as their enemies circled around them. Merlin cupped his hands together and drew power from his core to form a sizzling little knot of blue-white energy. Keeping his wrists together, he swung his arms forward, spread his palms open and flung the bolt of crackling energy at his nearest opponent. It hit the man in the chest, and sent him flying as Merlin pivoted toward the man next to him and shot another blast of power his way. Swinging in a half-circle left to right Merlin shot bolt after sizzling bolt of raw electricity at the men surrounding them. One by one they fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

At his back, Merlin could feel Arthur swinging his dagger at anyone who got too close. When Merlin spared a moment to glance over his shoulder, he was gladdened to see that not only was Arthur holding his own, but that he’d _somehow_ managed to obtain a sword from one of his attackers. 

Merlin had only a moment to spare as his stunned opponents gathered themselves for another attack. He seized the opportunity to concentrate on raising a curtain of shimmering, translucent power around him and Arthur. The shield wouldn’t stop a physical attack but it would afford them both some protection from the magic being hurled at them from half a dozen different mages. Merlin manipulated the energy, willing it to become _sticky_ and absorb the energy of the spells that began to break on its surface as the sparkers began firing at them again.

He was setting the shield up to be self-sustaining when a whip cracked out and snagged Merlin around the ankle. He cried out as his magic cut off in mid-spell, allowing one of the sorcerers to send a flurry of tiny, needle-fine shards of power through Merlin’s shield. He cried out as they shredded his clothing and flayed his skin in dozens of places.

Pain screamed along his nerve endings but Merlin fought the instinct to curl in on himself and protect his vital organs. None of his injuries were life threatening, they were just _painful_. He panted with the pain and tried to kick his bound ankle free only to be jerked off his feet a second later by the man wielding the whip. Arthur turned as Merlin went down and he slashed at the steel-clad whip with his borrowed sword.

The prince had just sawed through the iron-studded lash when a man in leather armour darted forward to aim a sword at his exposed back with a surprisingly clumsy swing. Arthur squirmed aside in time but the man came at him again, angling the sword in yet another awkward swing toward Arthur’s leg. Arthur dodged the blow and used the man’s momentum to dart up under his guard and slash at him with the dagger. Arthur’s blade connected, biting into the man’s ribs but it gave his opponent the opportunity to bring his sword up against Arthur’s back in a strange sort of _hugging_ motion. They were too close for the sword to do any real damage but it seemed that force wasn’t a requirement for the man’s weapon to inflict harm.

The moment the blade touched Arthur, he stiffened and cried out. Shaking all over he went down just as Merlin managed to free himself (and his magic) from the iron-clad leather coiled around his ankle. Seeing Arthur on the ground changed _everything_ for Merlin. Where fear had fueled him before, now fury filled his soul. Flinging out his hand, he sent the swordsman flying through the air to bounce off one of the walls with a sickening crunch. Jaw clenched, Merlin rolled to his hands and knees and sent a pulse of power through the earth and the garden _exploded_ around them.

Roots burst from the ground to twine around the legs of some of their attackers. The slender, decorative trees reached out with strong, narrow limbs to snatch others into the air. They held on with vegetative stoicism, indifferent to the blades and spells turned that against them as Kanen’s thugs struggled to escape. Roses hurled stinging thorns and vines peeled away from their supportive frames to wave through the air plucking weapons away from the swearing captives. 

Arthur shook himself and rose to his feet, offering a hand to help Merlin up from the ground. They surveyed their disabled opponents for a moment, but just as Arthur opened his mouth to speak, a lone figure stepped through the open door into the garden, 

A small, slender blond woman, she was dressed like a man in close-fitting breeches and tunic and her long hair was bound away from her face in a tight, practical braid. Unarmed but for a dagger at her waist, she nonetheless exuded a palpable air of danger. A sparker no doubt…and a powerful one if Merlin were to guess. Though she smiled as she looked them both over, the curve of her mouth was sly and mocking. She paced forward on graceful feet and Merlin’s stomach tightened in warning. Once again, he took a wary half-step sideways to position himself between Arthur and the approaching threat.

Then she spoke and Merlin’s stomach dropped in sickening recognition.

“Hello…Merlin is it? And Prince Arthur no less…my what exalted company you’ve found yourself. I see your taste in companions is much improved from the last time we met...not that I expect you to remember me.”

“I remember you,” Merlin contradicted her with a low growl.

Her elegant eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Really?”

“You tried to kill me _Morgause_ , you and your king.”

“Indeed,” she confirmed with a mocking little inclination of her head. Her gaze turned speculative as she took another step forward and Merlin bristled in response. “I confess that _is_ a surprise. Even more of a surprise than your survival. That spell of mine _should_ have killed you all. I have to wonder why it did not…”

Merlin didn’t have an answer for her, it was as much a mystery to him as it was to her how the three of them had survived, not quite unscathed but certainly intact. He wondered why she was there with Kanen’s men when she’d clearly been working for Cenred the last time he’d encountered her. Seeing no reason not to, he decided he’d simply _ask_.

“Why are you here with Kanen? I thought you worked for King Cenred.”

“Oh I do, but you see, unlike _you_ , Kanen doesn’t know that.”

Merlin was backing up now; Arthur pressed close against his back but moved his feet in concert with Merlin’s steps as he maneuvered them both away from the fair-haired sorceress. She smirked at them in dark amusement, clearly not bothered by Merlin’s attempts to get around her.

“After that little temper-tantrum you threw in the ring at Jarl’s fight, Kanen went around hiring as many sparkers as he could find to come to Camelot and collect you. I volunteered to come along.”

As Merlin had hoped, Morgause moved to keep them in front of her. He carefully positioned them to best advantage before he stopped and locked eyes with her.

“I’m not going back to him. Not now, not ever.”

Her smile was condescending as she said, “Well, as reassuring as that is, I just can’t leave your fate to chance. Whether you’re Kanen’s lapdog or not, I’m afraid you’re just a bit too powerful to leave alive.”

She threw her hand up and quickly chanted a spell, the words falling from her lips in a flood of liquid syllables. Merlin reacted by shoving Arthur away, powering the push with a spark of magic. The prince staggered and fell, rolling safely out of the way a fraction of a second before lightning flashed from the sky and struck Merlin full on.

However, primed by her attack in the forest of Essetir, Merlin had anticipated her opening strike and prepared for it. Every hair on his body stood on end but Merlin absorbed the energy and funneled it through his core. Passing through the sieve of his own magic, Merlin changed the power, shaping it to his will. It built within him until it pressed the limits of his ability to contain it. That was when he loosened his hold and allowed it to surge back up inside him. The incredible power flooded his senses and overflowed every magical pathway in his body but Merlin made no attempt to stop it, he simply directed it, observing the mighty explosion as it burst from his outstretched hands with eyes of burning gold.

Morgause screamed as the power slammed into her but somehow she managed to channel it in turn, exploding in a towering column of flame. She stood within the fire but was not consumed by it. Instead she chanted and the fire began to twist at her command, flaring even higher, curling in on itself in a swirling cloud before an identifiable shape began to form in the twisting flames. Time seemed to slow as Merlin watched the fire take form, eventually resolving into the figure of…a dragon.

Something deep inside Merlin laughed in triumph at the sight. The dragon was _his_ ally and fire was _Merlin’s_ element. 

As Morgause’s fire-dragon lunged toward him, Merlin stepped forward with his arms stretched wide open. He embraced the flames as they rushed toward him and he felt only a warm, friendly swirl of greeting as _his_ Element instantly recognized him. The dragon coiled around his form, purring in contentment as Morgause jaw dropped in utter amazement. It only required the tiniest nudge of Merlin’s will to control the dragon and it reared up to tower at his back with a deafening roar. Another little nudge of his will and _Merlin’s_ dragon attacked, diving for Morgause and swallowing her whole.

Engulfed in flames, Morgause then called on what he suspected was _her_ Element-Air-to summon a protective whirlwind around her. However, while the speed of the spinning wind kept the encroaching flames from reaching her, it also fueled the dragon’s fire, fanning the flames higher and higher.

To keep from burning the palace down, Merlin pulled his power from the conflagration then summoned a jet of water from the fountain in the center of the garden. He whipped the small stream into a churning wall of water and sent it crashing over Morgause’s head. Scribing a double arc in the air with his hands, he forced the water to curl around her, encapsulating the sorceress in a massive sphere of frothing waves.

Though Merlin could control _all_ the elements, water was not his greatest ally and Morgause was able to wrest control from him, freezing the water around her before shattering the ice with a pulsing wave of power. Shards of ice burst outward with incredible force enveloping him and Arthur in a shower of razor edged hail. Merlin had just enough time to solidify the air around them into a makeshift shield. The ice struck the shield with enough force to powder it and when the hail shower was over, there was an inch-thick layer of snow on the ground inside the garden walls.

Once he assured himself of Arthur’s well-being with a quick glance, Merlin turned to see Morgause standing several yards away, a single hand raised in their direction. She was chanting and elaborately worded spell but Merlin didn’t hesitate to attack. Shoving Arthur aside, he rushed straight at her and threw his arms around her waist. Picking her right up off the ground he swept her through the open door at her back. Shock held her rigid in his arms as he hurtled into the castle and slammed the door behind them with a flick of his magic. His eyes flashed and the lock melted as she squirmed free of his grasp.

A moment later, Merlin heard fists pounding against the door and was glad he’d been quick to lock it. Unsurprisingly, Arthur wasn’t taking his exclusion from the battle-zone with any sort of grace.

Morgause staggered away from him but recovered quickly and began to chant again. Merlin raised a shield and backed up, trying to draw her away from the garden door and the prince pounding on the other side of it.

Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a door further down the corridor and made a dash for it. Morgause followed, as he’d hoped she would. The door was locked but Merlin blasted the entire mechanism off and forced the portal wide. He was dismayed to find himself in the _library_ of all places. Thankfully, Lord Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen as Merlin ducked inside and pulled the door closed. Seconds later the door was blasted off its hinges and Morgause filled the entryway, an ugly black cloud beginning to form around her outstretched hand.

Merlin drew his shield tight around him, firming it as best he could. Kanen had focused almost all Merlin’s training on attack, not defense so his shields had always been makeshift at best, formed from raw power and will alone. He’d experimented over the years, learning how to build shields that used the power thrown at them as fuel but none of his shields had ever been purpose built. Now as Morgause sent the swelling cloud of darkness his way, Merlin had reason to regret that fact.

Glittering flakes of black decay ate at his shield, slipping through to adhere to his skin and clothes. Wherever they touched him, they burned like ice and turned his flesh the ashen hue of death. The decay ate through his skin and sank into his bones, rapidly sapping his energy, and he feared, his life-force. He was surrounded now, everything was blackest dark, no hint of light anywhere to be seen.

No. No, he would _not_ be taken by darkness. He’d had enough of the dark, enough of the cold, enough of death. He was a creature of warmth and _light_ and he reached deep down inside himself to find the hot pulsing core of golden energy burning bright at the very center of his being. Whenever he’d manipulated that core of light before, he’d forced the energy to contract, but this time, he needed it to _expand_ . So now, instead of wrapping his mind around it in containment, he plunged right into the heart of it, and pushed with his will, watching with manic joy as the golden light begin to radiate up and out, passing right through the thin envelope of his skin to pierced the blackness that surrounded him.

Merlin blazed like the sun and his golden light consumed all the darkness Morgause had summoned against him. Power exploded from his body and the very ground beneath the castle rocked from the impact. The ceiling above began to crack, large fissures ripping open to spill huge chunks of masonry down upon them. Merln became dimly aware that he needed to rein his power in quickly or it could destroy not only the castle but all of Camelot as well.

Pulling his consciousness back, he forced his power to contract once more, drawing it back inside where it belonged. For a split second, the power fought him, yearning to blaze free in the open air but Merlin’s will was its master and it responded to his call, coiling back inside him with a final feeble snarl. When at last Merlin had himself under control, he opened his eyes and surveyed the library in dismay.

One of the inner walls had collapsed and most of the cases containing the books Merlin so loved were smashed upon the ground. Morgause lay still under a pile of rubble. Whether she was dead or just unconscious Merlin didn’t know, and wasn’t keen to discover. He swayed toward the ruined door on unsteady feet. He was thoroughly exhausted, but he needed to see if anything besides the library was damaged, and more importantly, he needed to find Arthur and Gaius, and make sure that they were both all right.

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“You know Merlin…you brought all this on yourself. Trying to be a hero…that’s the only reason I ever saw you in the first place. Way back then, right at the beginning, if you’d just kept quiet and huddled away in your hut like a proper little peasant boy, I’d never even have known you existed…but no, not you. Even as a tiny thing, you were gonna _protect yer mummy_. I seen you come running out from where she had you hid, fists balled up, eyes blazing gold. Suddenly two of my boys went flying!”

Kanen’s voice droned on and on and on. He hadn’t stopped talking since Merlin had come face to face with him in the corridor outside the library. Merlin had immediately turned and run and the older man had followed with ever-loyal Pel by his side. They’d pursued him relentlessly up stairs and down, twisting through endless halls and corridors until Merlin’s sense of direction was completely lost…and so was he.

Armed with the magic crossbow he’d so gleefully shown Merlin back in Essetir, Kanen was taking random potshots at Merlin whenever he could. Merlin wasn’t sure if Kanen was actually trying to kill him or just herd him where he wanted Merlin to go, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Peering out from the alcove where he was currently crouched, Merlin pulled back an instant later as another bolt from the crossbow shattered against the wall just inches above his head. Holding his breath, he created a shield around himself and darted out into the corridor.

Kanen kept firing his enhanced weapon. None of the bolts made it past the barrier Merlin held up but each one drained a bit of power from the shield as they struck. After the fight with Morgause, Merlin’s control over his magic was more than a bit wobbly.

The turning for the next corridor was just ahead and Merlin dropped the faltering shield, ducked the next bolt, and dove forward into a tuck and roll coming to his feet again around the corner.

Kanen followed, relentlessly stalking down the corridor after Merlin… _still_ talking.

“Never in my life have I seen so much power! And in such a _little_ boy. I knew you were special. Reckoned I could train you right, put that power to good use, hell, we’d both be better off. I told you I scooped you out of the dirt, Merlin. I wasn’t lying. I _saved_ you from growing up as one of those pathetic little sheep we prey on. I made you strong. I made you a wolf! And now! Now you want to run right when we’re on the verge of something really big? Something that will make us rich and comfortable for the rest of our days? Think, Merlin! For once in your life, just _think!_ ”

He _was_ thinking. Kanen had _stolen_ him. Taken him from his mother when he was too young to even remember her and made himself the only family Merlin had ever known. Saved him? Is that what Kanen really believed?

“No more riding around collecting what we’re owed by deadbeats and dirt grubbing farmers. Just a couple of fights now and then…the rest of the time we don’t got to do _nothing_ we don’t want to.”

More like nothing _Kanen_ didn’t want to do. Merlin would have to keep doing what he didn’t want to…he’d have to keep hurting people.

“It’s not like you can stay in Camelot, you know. You’re a sparker and they don’t stand for sparkers round here. Old King Uther will have your head off faster than you can say _magic._ ”

Merlin’s guts tightened at the truth of Kanen’s words. He wouldn’t be able stay in Camelot, not anymore. Not now that Kanen had exposed him for a sorcerer.

“You got nowhere to go, Merlin. _I’m_ the only family you got. Just like it’s always been. It’s you and me Merlin. No one else wants us, no one else understands us…no one else will ever accept us. Come back home, Merlin. You don’t belong here. You belong with me.”

Merlin _might_ not belong in Camelot, with its magic-hating king…but he most certainly _did not_ belong with Kanen. Merlin belonged with Arthur _wherever that might be_.

“Can’t you see how foolish all this is? You can’t want to stay in a place where everyone is out to kill you just for breathing. Come home with me, Merlin. You matter there, you got a future, _we_ finally have a good future Merlin. So just stop all this and _Come. Home. Now!_ ”

Merlin broke for the landing as Kanen’s voice turned from cajoling to commanding. Yet another one of Kanen’s bolts came whizzing past his head and he turned and ducked through the nearest doorway into a small receiving room. Slamming and locking the door with a thought, he dashed for the window only to recoil as the half dozen sparkers down in the courtyard sent a hail of razor sharp rocks his way. Covering his face, he dove for the floor as the window exploded inward spraying him with sharpened glass and stone. Hissing from the stinging pain and bleeding again from a dozen new shallow cuts, Merlin scrambled back into the room and looked for an alternate exit.

Seeing that the chamber he was in seemed to be the reception area for a rather elaborate suite, he quickly surveyed the adjoining rooms. There looked to be a private dining room and a bedchamber, both with windows overlooking the courtyard.

“Ahh! No good!” he muttered to himself.

There was nothing for it, he was going to have to go out the same way he’d come in. Kicking open the door he hurtled back into the corridor, narrowly avoiding being pinned to the wall by yet another crossbow bolt. To Merlin’s right, Pel screamed in frustration and scrambled to bring his crossbow to bear on Merlin while Kanen advanced slowly from the left. Inching down the hall toward him, Kanen kept his enchanted crossbow pointed steadily at Merlin’s head but didn’t fire.

“Don’t make me do it, Merlin. This isn’t what I want. I just want us to be a family again. So just stop this and come home, all right?”

Merlin glanced around, looking for _anything_ he could use and spied a miniature door halfway up the opposite wall. Perfect! Swift as a striking snake, he flipped it open and dove headfirst into the opening. His shoulders scraped the edges a bit but he cleared the opening in a matter of seconds and found himself falling headfirst down a dark, narrow shaft. There was no room to tuck and roll when he hit a bend, instead his hands hit the wall with a crunch and his back slammed into the far wall of the shaft as he rattled through the curve and fell again. A second later he fell a few feet through open air before crashing to a bone-rattling halt on an oddly cushioned floor.

Instantly tangled in clinging yards of musty smelling fabric, Merlin flailed upright battling to free himself from a pile of… _bedsheets_. Half a dozen laundresses had paused in their official duties and were now staring at him with wide eyes as he freed himself from the last of the clinging sheets that had inexplicably wound themselves around his legs when he landed. Shaking himself to check for damage, Merlin thought, _a laundry chute, of course._ Discovering nothing more than bumps, bruises and scrapes, Merlin nodded to the astonished women.

“Ladies.”

He sketched a quick bow and scarpered for the door. Merlin had never had occasion to visit the royal laundry before but Gaius had pointed it out on his first tour of the castle. Located in a familiar corner of the castle complex, it was only one turn of the corridor and two floors below the physician’s quarters, but more importantly, it was very close to the same courtyard exit Merlin used to come and go from Gaius’ chambers. Hopefully he’d gained a short lead on his pursuers by leaping down the laundry chute. It seemed none of them had been eager to follow him. If Merlin could figure out a way to get past the sparkers in the courtyard, then he could conceivably lead them away from the castle, and (more importantly) away from Gaius and Arthur.

Kanen had been right about that much _family_ was more important than anything and Merlin would do whatever he had to in order to keep his new family safe. Topping the stairs, only steps from his goal, Merlin jerked to a stop at the sight of Kanen leaning against the wall next to the small wooden sign pointing out the way to the Court Physician. 

Merlin felt a flush of panic rise up his neck. He couldn’t keep his eyes from flickering toward the stairs that led to Gaius’ rooms. It was just the tiniest movement, but when he saw the ugly smile pulling at the silvery scars on Kanen’s cheek, Merlin knew that he’d given himself away.

“Is there something you don’t want me to see up there, Merlin? Shall we have a look?”

“No!”

He flung out a hand but Merlin remembered too late that Kanen could still move with the speed of a man half his age. Before Merlin could stop him, Kanen dodged up the stairs to the last place on earth Merlin ever wanted him to go. Close on his heels, Merlin was relieved to find him standing alone in the middle of the main chamber. Either Gaius was still hiding or he’d taken the opportunity to flee. Merlin hoped it was the latter but he couldn’t count on it.

Kanen had picked something up and was turning it over in his hands, and Merlin recognized his old collar with a start.

“So…this is where you went to ground, eh? Taken in by no less than the Court Physician of Camelot himself. You didn’t just land on your feet, did you Merlin? You landed in a tub of butter. Cept, this is still _Camelot_ and you’re still a sparker.”

He held up the collar.

“This. This is all that keeps you in check, Merlin. This is the line between the beast that bites and the dog that obeys. Either way though, you’re still an animal. You always will be. Can’t escape what you are no matter how many nice people you sucker with that sweet face, how many men you beguile with those big sad eyes. Look around you, Merlin.”

Swinging his head to the left and then to the right, his gaze sweeping over everything in the room, Kanen spread his arms wide as if to encompass everything.

“So these people took you in, eh? Fed and clothed you? Healed and fattened you up…and _this_ is what you give them in return? You drag them down into the dirt with you, bring your ugly little life into their peaceful world and crap all over it.”

Kanen reached out and swept an armful of glass bottles and clay jars off the nearest table and  
watched them smash on the floor.

“Everything that’s happened here today,” he kicked over a bench and flipped a table sending a dozen delicate instruments crashing all over the place. “All this is _your_ doing, because you can’t seem to remember your place.”

Merlin edged into the room, desperately trying to figure out a way to get Kanen _out_ , to get him away. He didn’t’ know where Arthur was but he knew that when the prince couldn’t find Merlin, he’d likely come this way to check on Gaius. Merlin had to get rid of Kanen _before_ that happened.

“Thought you could stay here? Thought you could make a place for yourself with these people? You’re fooling yourself, Merlin. You’ll just end up turning on them, the way you turned on me.”

Never, Merlin would _never_ turn on Arthur, on Gaius! He wouldn’t…would he?

“Because you can’t help yourself. The beast will come out and you’ll bite the gentle hand that feeds you.”

A flicker of doubt rose at the back of Merlin’s mind…maybe…maybe Kanen was on to something. He’d known Merlin longer than anyone…maybe Merlin _couldn’t_ help himself…

“And they won’t forgive you like I will. They never could cuz _they aren’t your family_.”

No…that wasn’t right. They _were_ his family. Both of them had said so. Gaius wanted Merlin to stay with him, to learn to be a physician. Arthur wanted him to stay by his side, wanted to love him, wanted Merlin to love _him_.

“ _I’m your family_ , Merlin. _Me._ “

He wasn’t Merlin’s family; he never had been, no matter what he’d made Merlin call him. He’d never loved Merlin the way a _father_ should; he’d only ever sought to _use_ Merlin.

“You belong to me like you never will to them. You know I’m right, Merlin so, come on. Come back to me,” Kanen crooned.

 _You belong to me…_ Kanen thought Merlin belonged _to_ him, Gaius and Arthur thought he belonged _with_ them…such a world of difference when you just changed one tiny little word. Merlin was never going back to Kanen.

“Come on, boy. It’s better this way.”

Still talking, Kanen stretched out his hand, the open collar lying on his palm. Merlin took a single step toward him, trembling all over. Maybe…maybe if he went to Kanen now, he could get him away…lead him away from the castle, get him away from Gaius and Arthur…

“You’ll see. You won’t have to struggle anymore. I know how hard it is to try and live in a place you don’t fit in. Come home and you’ll be back where you fit, Merlin, back in the only place you’ll ever really _belong_.”

Desperate to buy some time-time to think, time to plan-Merlin took one more step, and then another toward Kanen. The older man’s facial features began to soften, even as his eyes sharpened. That smug gleam of premature satisfaction caught Merlin on the raw, and a spark of anger flickered back to life in his belly.

“That’s it, Merlin, come with me and it’s all forgiven. It’ll be just the two of us, you and me, family and a life that makes sense. Easy, simple, safe.”

 _Easy for Kanen maybe, safe and simple for_ him _, not for anyone else._

His fury growing with each step, Merlin shuffled forward another three paces and Kanen took the last one so that they stood face to face. In a practiced move, Merlin had seen time and time and time again, Kanen reached up and flicked the collar so that it coiled around Merlin’s neck.

“Welcome home, Merlin.”

Merlin reached up and caught the end of the collar before the strip of leather and iron had completed its arc around his neck. Grasping the end, he yanked the collar out of Kanen’s hand and said,

“I _am_ home.”

Angry beyond conscious thought, eyes flaring brightest gold, Merlin’s power blazed up and he willed Kanen to _hurt_. Hurt like Merlin hurt, hurt like all the people Kanen had ever _made_ Merlin hurt. He forced himself onto Kanen…into him, pushing his power inside the man in a way he’d never done to anyone before.

Pressing through skin, flowing through veins and sinking deep into the man’s core, Merlin could sense when Kanen began to _feel it_. A sickening ache enveloped every single bone in his body then radiated outward, spreading along each and every nerve and seeping through connective tissue to saturate every twitching muscle. Agony surged through Kanen’s blood and rushed to cover his skin. Airways shriveled, growing tight and dry…sensitive. Normally insensible, soft air suddenly became a scratchy torment everywhere it touched.

A whimper squeezed its way up Kanen’s throat and hung on his lips, trembling. He dropped to the floor and began to rub his hands gently over his skin, as if to protect it from the harsh atmosphere. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes, the salinous fluid burning as it spilled down his cheeks.

“Kill me, Merlin. Do it,” he rasped harshly.

Tempted, Merlin snarled sending another pulse of pain through Kanen’s body. He felt the older man’s agony as Kanen’s spine arched and a guttural cry was torn from his throat.

“Gaah! That’s it! This is what you are, an animal…ugh…that’s what you’ll always be. A killer, Merlin.”

His small eyes were hard and filled with hate, and even with his chest heaving, panting with pain, Kanen kept at him.

“Kill me. Do it…it’s who you are...what you’re _meant_ for. Prove it…kill me.”

Merlin could have ended it then-he could feel the frantic hammering beat of Kanen’s heart and could have stopped it with less than a thought. He _should_ kill him..but something was holding Merlin back. He tried to think but unreasoning rage made his thoughts sluggish. Fighting a lifetime of conditioning that screamed at him to _kill kill kill_ he tried to pay heed to that faint hesitation. Then Kanen snarled again and Merlin wavered for a moment before a voice sharp with distress pulled him up short.

“Don’t! Merlin, don’t do it!”

That voice…Merlin knew that voice…didn’t he?

Hands-strong, firm _familiar_ hands-closed over Merlin’s shoulders gently and tugged him back. Merlin knew those hands…Arthur, they were _Arthur’s_ hands. The voice…that was Gaius.

“Kill me! Do it, you miserable little mutt! Kill me!”

Kanen. Merlin felt his fingers curl and the power dug deeper into Kanen’s muscles and he felt the thrashing of the body at his feet.

“That’s…ugh….my…boy.”

“No!”

This time it was two voices in unison. Gaius _and_ Arthur. Merlin pulled his power back, could finally identify the revulsion that made him hesitate. He didn’t _want_ to cause pain. It made him sick inside that he could do this to _anyone_ , even someone like Kanen.

“Do it, you miserable cur! You traitorous dog! Kill me!”

“Merlin, don’t.” Gaius’ voice was firm and reassuring.

“He’s wrong, Merlin. That’s not what you are,” Arthur said, a pleading note in his voice.

“You are! A killer!” Kanen’s voice was hoarse and desperate, the repetition becoming less and less compelling by the moment.

“Merlin, don’t do it, you’re not like him.” Gaius’ tone was calm and low, grounding Merlin…helping him think.

“You’re just like me,” Kanen snarled, “I made you what you are!”

“Don’t listen to him, Merlin. You are more than what he tried to make you. You’re your own man now, you have a choice.”

Arthur was right…Merlin had a choice. From his earliest memories, he’d never wanted to hurt people, never wanted to be a killer. Kanen had forced it on him when he was too young to know any better, made him think that’s all he could ever be. But Merlin knew better now.

He released Kanen and sagged down to his knees. His vision grayed out but his hearing remained unfortunately sharp.

“No, damn you! Kill me! Kill me, you…”

A crash and sudden silence jerked Merlin from his fog and he blinked wonderingly at the sight of Gaius poised over Kanen’s slack body. The remains of a heavy pot lay in thick shards around Kanen’s head.

Gaius’ eyebrow soared as he murmured, “ _That_ was one of my favourite pots. Still, I suppose it’s a small price to pay for some peace and quiet.”

Arthur burst out laughing and Merlin managed a tired chuckle. Suddenly there were strong arms around him and a hard muscled chest warm against his cheek. He sagged gratefully into Arthur’s embrace, meeting Gaius’ approving eyes over the Prince’s shoulder.

Blessed silence reigned and Merlin was overwhelmed with a feeling of _rightness_. The future was an uncertain blurr right now but somehow, Merlin knew it would be all right. He wrapped his arms around Arthur and held on tight. _This_ was who he was. _This_ is where he belonged. _This_ was home.

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Arthur felt that King Uther looked very satisfied when the day ended with the execution of a man notorious throughout the Five Kingdoms for using magic to commit the most heinous of crimes. The criminal mastermind Kanen fell under the executioner’s axe just as the sun began to set over the city of Camelot and his father was already making plans to trumpet “his” triumph to even the farthest flung corners of Albion.

 _Arthur_ was very satisfied that his father had deigned to take his advice to immediately execute such a dangerous man. There was no trial as there was no need for one. Kanen’s crimes had been witnessed by the Prince of Camelot himself, and no one would dare dispute his word. Especially not when there was ample evidence to back up the prince’s claims in the damage done to the castle by the sorcerers Kanen had brought with him to assault Uther’s seat of power.

The dungeons were full of lesser criminals and sorcerers who, come morning, all would get their turn under the executioner’s axe. And if none of them could remember exactly why they’d come to Camelot in the first place, surely that was just more evidence that enchantments had been used…was it not?

Unfortunately, by the time the guards had investigated the ruins of the library, the sorceress Morgause was nowhere to be found.

Another point of satisfaction for Arthur was his new sword, a very handy weapon that required only the lightest of taps to fell an opponent. And if he had to keep it hidden in between the mattress and the bedframe in his chambers, well no one but his manservant was ever likely to discover it…and _he_ wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Come along Merlin, you’ve loads of new duties to attend to,” Arthur said leading the way in from the courtyard. Grinning to himself, he began to list _some_ of those duties for his newly appointed personal servant.

“My chambers are a complete mess, my clothes need washing, my armour needs repairing, my boots need cleaning, my _dogs_ need exercising, my fireplace needs sweeping, my bed needs changing and _someone_ needs to muck out my stables.”

“Tell me again why I agreed to take this job?”

“You’re the one who wanted the opportunity to _be by my side_ ,” Arthur smugly reminded him.

Hiring Merlin as his manservant was the best solution Arthur could come up with for keeping the other boy close. After recent events, he found himself highly reluctant to even let Merlin out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

“You’re really angling to earn a new sobriquet aren’t you, Arthur? Prat-faced treacher not good enough for you?”

Arthur had to struggle hard to contain his grin at Merlin’s ever increasing cheek. Far from being upset by the sight of his former master’s fall, Merlin seemed to feel nothing but relief that the man’s demise didn’t come at his own hand.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t bother to hide his own mischievous smile.

“Is that another of my new duties, _Sire?_ ”

“Well, I’m certainly not paying just to hear you talk,” Arthur responded quellingly.

“No, you’re paying me to hang around your bedchamber all day…I wonder what that says about the state of our relationship…”

“Fine, then _I’ll shut you up_ ,” Arthur mock-growled as he pulled Merlin into a convenient little alcove in the hall. Covering Merlin’s mouth with his own, he suited action to words and shut his new servant’s mouth in a way that best suited them both.

A few minutes later, they managed to untangle themselves and made for the privacy of Arthur’s rooms. Arthur wanted to make the most of their time together, for while the most immediate threat to them had been taken care of, he had a strong feeling that their adventures together were just beginning.


	12. Epilogue

[ ](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/244/d/0/d05b663f5460c841cc80a527c31a9ecf-d6ko946.jpg)

Merlin leaned against the fence separating a thickly planted field of broad-beans from the grassy fallow stretch of ground where Prince Arthur of Camelot was facing off against a low-born village herbalist in an archery contest…and losing. Giggling at Arthur’s dismayed expression, Merlin watched as Hunith planted yet another shot in the dead center of the makeshift target. It seemed Merlin’s mother was quite the accomplished archer.

His mother…he’d never in his life thought he’d ever get to meet his mother. He’d had modest hopes of perhaps learning _something_ about the woman who’d given him life but had never really dared dream that one day he’d actually _know_ her. But now, know her he did…and she was _wonderful_.

He’d been nervous, _so_ nervous as they had approached the village of Ealdor just over a week ago. Gaius rode to his right and Arthur to his left, both mouthing reassurances that Merlin listened to with only half an ear. It was all well and good for Arthur to say that Merlin’s mother couldn’t fail to love him, but Merlin knew that Arthur was just a wee bit biased when it came to him. He thought _everyone_ should love Merlin, and while that was a heartening sentiment, Merlin realized his appeal was far from universal.

Gaius’ assurances had been a bit easier to accept since he _knew_ Merlin’s mother, or had known her once upon a time. He could speak of what she might or might not do with some authority. When Gaius said that Hunith would be happy to see him, Merlin could almost believe it.

As it occurred, Gaius _and_ Arthur both turned out to be right.

They’d clattered into the tiny village on three of the finest horses Ealdor was likely ever to see and immediately, people had begun to drift out of their homes to peer at the well-dressed strangers. Merlin had searched every face, not knowing exactly what he was looking for but hoping he’d know her when he saw her... _and he had_.

Emerging from a cottage at the far side of the village, the small dark-haired woman had approached their party with more caution but no less curiosity than the other villagers. Merlin stared as she approached, his gut tightening. He didn’t recognize the woman’s features at all, but there was something about her that was…familiar.

Merlin couldn’t take her eyes off her as he and the others dismounted. Face fixed in a pleasant, if somewhat neutral smile, she drew close enough to join the swelling ring of villagers surrounding them. Her blue eyes passed over Arthur and lingered for a moment on Merlin before they fell on Gaius and widened. A smile of genuine delight lit her face and that was when Merlin knew for sure.

_That’s my mother._

He watched her, unabashedly staring as she skirted around the other villagers to reach Gaius’ side. Hugging the old man, she’d exclaimed over him in effusive tones, her words washing over Merlin without meaning. Her voice…he _knew_ her voice…had heard it in his dreams…soft and low…whispering tender loving words, and singing songs he could never remember on waking. He drank in the sound as she spoke to Gaius and thought it the sweetest he’d ever heard. Gaius replied to her in an equally incomprehensible tone and she turned to stare at Merlin, eyes wide with terrified hope.

It was easy for Merlin to recognize both the longing and the fear in her gaze for he’d been feeling that way since the moment Gaius had told him his mother wasn’t dead.

Merlin had squirmed uncertainly as she looked him over from head to toe. Then she’d thrown herself at him, wrapping him up in her arms, and he’d thought his heart would burst with joy. With one hand to his head, she’d combed her fingers through his hair and whispered over and over, “My baby boy, my sweet baby boy! I’ve missed you…every day. I missed you every day you were gone.”

They’d clung and cried and laughed and tried talking all at once. Eventually they’d calmed and she’d put a hand to the scars on his neck. He flinched a bit and her eyes darkened but she didn’t pull away. She just ran the tips of her fingers over the shiny white skin again and again as if trying to smooth the marks away.

She hadn’t said anything right there in the street but her eyes burned with questions and the moment she had him alone she wanted to know _everything_. She’d asked him to tell her what his life had been like with the man who’d stolen him. Had he kept Merlin? Was he the reason Merlin was scarred like a slave? _Had_ he been slave? What about his magic?

He couldn’t tell her everything she’d wanted to know. Merlin could never tell her all the things Kanen had done to him…all the things Kanen had made him do. But he could tell her some of it, so he had. He’d told her about growing up collared but left out the cage, told her about being trained to use his magic but left out the torture and humiliation, told her about being used as Kanen’s enforcer but left out how many people he had murdered in cold blood.

He didn’t tell her these things but still saw the suspicion of them in her eyes…along with a love that understood and accepted him regardless of the things that had been done to him and that he’d been forced to do. She’d hugged him close, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. She told him that she loved him and that there’d be no more questions, but if ever wanted to talk-about _anything_ -that she’d listen without judgment…and that nothing he could ever tell her would make her love him less.

Though he hadn’t cried once as he’d recited his history for her, he’d cried then and she’d held him tight. When he’d finally cried himself out, she’d dried his eyes and smiled tremulously at him. Merlin had returned the smile, kissed her hands and then looked for a distraction from emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d found it in the signs of herb-craft everywhere he looked. He asked her to show him her work and she’d seemed happy to do so.

True to her word, there had been no more questions about his life before Camelot. However there were a lot of questions about what his life was like _now_ , and those were questions Merlin was more than happy to answer.

Not surprisingly, Hunith had taken a liking to Arthur almost immediately and it seemed the prince returned her regard. The two of them had spent almost as much time talking to each other as they did to Merlin. Somehow the conversation had turned to weapons and training the night before, and the impromptu contest Merlin was currently watching was the end result.

It seemed Hunith (and many others in the village) had taken it upon themselves to find some means of self-defense after Kanen’s raid on the village twelve years before. Hunith fancied herself something of marksman and Arthur had made the mistake of smirking in response to her declaration of skill. He wasn’t smirking anymore!

Merlin couldn’t help but be amused that Hunith seemed to have fallen for the prince’s charm as quickly as her son had. He was also grateful for it, as it had made it easier for her to accept why Merlin couldn’t stay.

Much as he loved his mother and grateful as he was to have finally been reunited with her, Merlin’s place was in Camelot. To give his decision weight, Merlin had told her about the dragon and his claims of destiny and fate, but the truth was that Merlin couldn’t bear to be parted from Arthur for any reason. Fate was a fine excuse but he’d have chosen to stay with Arthur, dragon-born prophecy or not. 

Her eyes had filled with tears but she’d nodded bravely and brushed the hair back from his forehead, letting her hand come to rest along the side of his face.

“I understand why you have to go back, Merlin. I would love to keep you with me, but you _belong_ at Arthur’s side. I’ve seen how much he needs you, how much you need him. You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

Delighted by her positive valuation of his bond with Arthur, Merlin had beamed happily at his mother before offering sincerely,

“I’m going to miss you,”

She’d smiled and hugged him tight for a long moment. “I’ll miss you too.”

“You could come and stay with us…in Camelot.”

“Ah my beautiful boy, I would love to. But as you are needed in Camelot, I am needed here.”

Then she’d looked at his crestfallen expression and softened.

“Well, perhaps I could come for a visit…a short one, after the harvest is in.”

He’d lit up at the prospect and she’d laughed and they’d spent the rest of that afternoon preparing a bushel of rosehips for jellying. Gaius and Arthur had joined them after a while and Merlin felt full to bursting so content was he to have his whole family gathered close.

Now as he lounged against the rough wooden fence, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun on his face, Gaius came to join him and together they watched Hunith and Arthur gently squabbling over who the better archer was. They shared smiles of amusement but both were content to observe the goings on in companionable silence for a while. Then Gaius turned his gaze on Merlin and nodded toward the swathe of red fabric knotted around his neck.

“I know Hunith means well, but are you sure you’re all right with that thing around your neck?”

Merlin fingered the neckerchief his mother had presented him with that morning and smiled. How could he explain that the nubby length of cloth wrapped around his neck felt nothing like the collar he’d once worn? It would probably sound silly to Gaius, but each time Merlin felt the brush of soft linen against his skin it felt like a warm hug from his mother’s arms.

“You don’t have to wear it you know, just because she made it,” Gaius continued.

“I know,” Merlin said with a smile. “It’s my choice now.”

 _Thanks to you._ he added silently in his head.

He could never truly express the gratitude he felt for everything that both Gaius and Arthur had done for him. They’d given him a home, a purpose and a family. In Gaius he’d found a proper father figure, one who loved him and wanted to see him prosper. In Arthur, he’d found the love of his life and the other half of his soul. Together, they’d given back the life that Kanen had stolen from him and so much more. They’d shown him that his life was his own. Whether lived for good or bad, the choice was _his_ now, and his alone.

[ ](http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/245/3/b/3b580456583d9c7d3b1b71366a5b1616-d6ks9q7.jpg)


End file.
